


Behind Enemy Lines

by dontfretbaby, serohtonin



Series: Behind Enemy Lines [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontfretbaby/pseuds/dontfretbaby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/serohtonin/pseuds/serohtonin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington, D.C. is the home of some of the most powerful figures in the world, but none are more powerful than President Blaine Anderson. Behind the leader of the free world is Kurt Hummel, White House Communications Director, who is trying to keep Blaine’s image safe from those who threaten to destroy it. How will Kurt handle it when he becomes one of those dangers himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is loosely based on the television show _Scandal._ If you haven't seen the show, it will not hinder the reading experience of this fic.
> 
> [Britt](http://dontfretbaby.tumblr.com) and [Stacey](http://somethingdarrenish.tumblr.com) would like to give a massive thank you to our betas for tackling this complex fic: [Alyssa](http://roblaine.tumblr.com/), [Mags](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/), [Ellie](http://broadwaydarren.tumblr.com) & [Christine](http://christinejaneanderson.tumblr.com/).

Politics is the world’s greatest soap opera, and Washington, D.C. sets the perfect stage.

Even though it’s one of the most influential cities in the world, it’s still a place where everyone knows _everything_ about everybody. Dirty little secrets and scandals don’t stay private very long in Washington. It’s only a matter of time before ugly dark truths are exposed by rivals who are bold enough to take what they want.

The District is filled with brilliant opportunists who aren’t afraid to turn conflict into a contact sport where the winner gets the greatest gift of all: power. 

Power is more important in Washington than looks, money or name recognition. Those with power succeed in ways that are unimaginable to the average human being.

And in this city, there is no one more powerful than the President of the United States.

He’s the king.

He’s the ruler.

And somehow at the age of forty-two, Kurt Hummel finds himself standing in the same room with all that power every single day.

_How in the hell did he get here?_

**

On average, Kurt’s day starts around four a.m., even though technically his job never stops. He’s always on call because Washington, D.C. really is the city that never sleeps.

_Sorry, New York City._

With a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand, his phone is already buzzing with alerts and text messages from some of the most influential people in the country.

There are also a few missed calls from a private number that he deletes automatically.

He knows exactly who they’re from and he’s not in the mood for entertaining them.

Powering up his laptop, the day officially begins as he brushes the sleep out of his eyes and shifts his focus to all things President Blaine Anderson.

As the White House Communications Director, Kurt’s world revolves around the president and his agenda, and specifically how that agenda is sent to and perceived by the media. His email shows that his team in the communications department is already busy planning for the day with meetings set, speech writing sessions established and all of the president’s social media platforms covered and updated. 

Everything must be in order before the big upcoming deadline of President Anderson’s first televised address to the nation.

During that speech, he will push for the first major legislation of his presidency and Kurt knows it’s going to be a hard sell either way. Democrats want him to endorse a marriage equality law, while Republicans, his home base, are fighting for a tighter gun control law.

Kurt knows making a bad decision on which legislation to push will not only be a PR nightmare, but also a colossal mess for the Anderson Administration. 

He can’t let that happen. 

He’s fought, clawed and done unimaginable things to get this man to The White House. So he will succeed under any circumstances, no matter the cost. 

Sure, he may have gotten his hands a bit dirty along the way, but no one will ever know how much, because he’s Kurt Hummel and he is damn good at what he does.

That’s one of the perks of being the “political fixer,” a ridiculous term the press started calling him.

For someone who has a flare for the dramatics, even Kurt thinks that title is a bit much.

_At least it’s better than “spin doctor.”_

**

Not a day goes by that Kurt pulls to the White House gates and thinks, “This is _totally_ normal.”

Nothing about his life is normal, actually, which is the sad yet exciting part about it all. 

Either way, it’s the White House.

A big freaking deal.

Every morning, Kurt plays it smooth though, strutting confidently past the line of people waiting to get approved by security. Box of jelly doughnuts in hand, he slips it to one of the security guards at the gate.

“Good morning, Todd. How was your daughter’s birthday?”

“It was great. You were so right about the necklace. She loved it. Thanks again.” Todd reaches over to press a button. “There you go, Mr. Hummel. Try not to cause any trouble in there.”

Kurt laughs. “Would I ever?”

He waves goodbye to Todd, enjoying the small talk for what it was, and continues inside. 

That’s where the real chaos unfolds. The White House on Monday mornings are like going to Black Friday doorbusters at the crack of dawn.

For Kurt, though, everything is a bit in slow motion. He’s too busy focusing on the new portrait of Hillary Clinton, The First Lady years, that must’ve been hung up over the weekend.

_She’s a goddess, really._

“Hummel, thank God you’re here!” 

Kurt’s daydreaming is interrupted by the abrasive voice of Santana Lopez. 

To say she’s a handful would be an understatement. She’s more like six handfuls, which can be a nightmare at times considering he’s her boss.

That being said, she’s a fantastic White House Press Secretary who owns the press briefing room on a daily basis. Kurt’s pretty sure half of the White House correspondents fear her.

And they should.

“What’s going on?” Kurt asks when he finally reaches the front door of his office.

Santana sighs disgruntledly. “Wes is about to have an aneurysm about this deadline in a few weeks. Apparently, President Anderson isn’t budging on either issue. He needs you to try and sway him so we can have enough time to plan his speech and the steps after that.”

Kurt nearly rolls his eyes and wonders when Presidential Babysitter was added to his resume. Plus, knowing the president's chief of staff, Kurt’s pretty sure this is all an exaggeration.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go talk to Wes in a minute.”

Kurt says hello to his secretary and then retreats to his office, which still feels too big. 

It’s crazy to think it’s only been six months since President Anderson, who at the age of forty, became the youngest president ever sworn into office. And to think, Kurt thought this job would be easier than running a full-blown, cutthroat presidential campaign.

_No way._

Before Kurt can sit down, his office phone is ringing, and his heart palpitates in alarm. 

_How does he know I’m here already?_ Kurt thinks, knowing exactly who’s calling his line.

Despite his better judgement, Kurt picks up. “Yes, Marley.”

Kurt’s secretary, Marley, is new, fresh out of college and completely terrified of Kurt. She barely speaks to him and when she does, this is normally how it goes.

She clears her throat deeply, a little _too_ deeply. So much so that she bursts into a coughing fit that last what feels like a good five minutes.

Then when she does manage to speak, it’s a shaking whispers, her nerves at the tip of almost every word. “Sorry, um–sir. President Anderson is on line 101 for you.” She pauses then says with a little bit more conviction. “Should I tell him you’re already in your department meeting?”

Kurt’s nerves are beginning to fray even as he tries to quell them. He’s thankful, however, that Marley knows the drill by now. “Yes, yes please.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Thank you, Marley.”

Marley hangs up, and Kurt can hear her from his office telling the white lie to the leader of the free world. 

At least she’s competent enough to do that.

Then Kurt realizes that he still actually has to make it to said morning meeting, so he yanks his notepad from his messenger bag and a worn out ‘Anderson For President’ pen, heading for the door before making a quick pit stop in his full length mirror. 

Hair perfectly coiffed: check. 

Button down wrinkle-free with top button not-so-casually left open: check, check.

Hot new pair of Alexander McQueen boots, _not_ on sale, because he can: triple check.

Kurt is ready to own this meeting.

The conference room across the hall is packed with staffers, but when Kurt walks in everyone shuffles quickly to a chair and he can see their ears perk up to attention.

That’s the power, and Kurt’s still not used to it just yet.

Standing at the front of the room, Kurt turns his back to the group, hearing whispers among the some of the staffers.

He scribbles something on the whiteboard and then loudly calls everyone to attention. “Fourteen days,” he declares. “We’re just two weeks away from President Anderson’s televised address and no matter which route he takes, we need to be prepared to tackle this thing from all angles PR-wise the moment the words come out of his mouth.”

Kurt points to Marley, who even trips under her own feet when she walks next to him. He exhales in annoyance.

She hands him the stack of blue folders and says she’s sorry under her breath.

“Thank you, Marley. That will be all,” Kurt says back, making a note to do some digging on her to figure out what her deal is.

“Alright.” Kurt turns back to the group. “These are your assignments. Half of you will be coming up with an approach for the marriage equality bill and the other will find a way to spin the gun control law. For each, I need to see a media plan, speech bullet points, social media ideas and the other basics. You guys know what to do.”

“Will this need to be in by Friday, sir?”

The _sir_ at the end of that question makes the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck stand up. 

He loves the perks of the power he’s been given, but the authority part of it still rubs him the wrong way sometimes.

“I want to see preview plans on my desk by Thursday. Get to work, people.”

And with that, Kurt strolls out of the meeting as quickly as he entered and heads to where the real fun begins.

The office of Wes Montgomery, White House Chief of Staff.

**

Kurt has known Wes since he was Kurt’s assistant professor at Princeton. They were never really friends, more like allies, and that kinship carried over to when Wes was in a major bind two years ago with a then-failing Anderson campaign.

Now the two men have some of the most powerful jobs in the country, but Wes takes ruling the “republic,” as he calls it, a lot more seriously than Kurt.

Walking into Wes’ office, he immediately feels sorry for his assistant, whose name he only remembers because Wes screams it every thirty seconds. And like clockwork, the moment he’s about to walk into his office, Kurt hears:

“Sugar! Get Kurt Hummel on the phone.”

Kurt narrows his eyes and walks in to see Wes leaning up against his desk, remote control in hand.

This is _never_ a good look.

“Wes, have you taken your medication today?”

“Not funny, Hummel.” He snarls back. “And yes, yes I have.”

Kurt laughs. “Good, because you are about to run out assistant number sixteen and we’ve only been at the White House six months.”

“Oh, Sugar, she’s fine. But listen to this!” Wes presses play on the DVR.

Kurt groans at the sight of the Vice President Sebastian Smythe on one of those political commentary shows. With any other VP, this would be seen as a positive, but with Sebastian, there’s no clue what will come out of his mouth.

_“President Anderson is going to do what is best for our nation and the American people, but I have made no secret that marriage equality has been a top platform for me during my political career.” Sebastian gives his standard all-teeth showing smile. “With that said, this gun control bill that Congress has is the best I’ve seen in years so I hope the president makes the right choice next week when he makes the announcement.”_

“Shit,” Kurt mumbles, blood boiling in his veins. “Did he just say next week? He frickin’ just said next week, Wes! That’s a sound bite. It’s out there and we’re–”

“Screwed, yet again,” Wes finishes and angrily shuts off the TV. “There is no way in hell the president can make a choice by next week. You know how he gets under pressure.”

Agonizing pain hits Kurt’s temples as his brain floods with thoughts of how they hell they’re going to pull this off in a week. 

But they’ll pull it off and everything will work out flawlessly.

“I gotta go tell my team to move up the deadline. Meeting in the Oval in twenty?”

“You got it.”

**

Kurt remembers taking a White House tour in college and chomping at the bit to get to the Oval Office. Experiencing all that history, legacy and dominance up close and personal felt more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol.

It stills feels that way, but now there’s an extra sense of jitters and uncertainty.

Delightedly, Rachel Berry appears by his side, always a ray of blistering sunshine. 

Kurt knows she’s _way_ too nice to survive in Washington. He hopes she doesn’t get eaten alive in this city.

Being the executive assistant to the President of the United States only has so much clout.

“Hello there, gorgeous.” Rachel air kisses Kurt, then gasps. “Ugh, those boots are to die for!”

“Thanks. They just came in the mail. Thought I’d show them off,” Kurt says, hiking his foot up to get her a better look to drool. “They in there already?”

Rachel looks at the Oval door, surrounded by Secret Service on both sides. “Yes, I think they’re just waiting for you.”

Kurt nods, his hands shaking a little in anticipation. “Want to get lunch later? Anywhere but the cafe.”

“See you then.” She winks before returning to her work.

Kurt heads into the Oval after being given the nod of approval from the tall men dressed in all black protecting the doorway.

“There he is, sir,” Kurt hears Wes say when he steps into the room. Wes is standing up at this point, relief on his face.

Kurt’s eyes veer to the dark brown desk at the head of the Oval and the black chair on the other side sluggishly spins in his direction.

President Anderson’s gelled-back hair appears looser than usual, some curls flopping onto his forehead and grey sneaking in at his temples that wasn’t there six months ago. He looks weary, with heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. His designer suit has a few wrinkles and his red bowtie is way off-kilter. Kurt fights the urge to adjust it, shifting his thoughts to the more professional hope that President Anderson hasn’t been photographed today. The last thing he needs is ridiculous phone calls from journalists about his health.

_Guess running a country will do that to you._

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. President.” Kurt’s pitch heightens embarrassingly. “I’m sure Wes has filled you in on what the VP said today.”

President Anderson rolls his eyes and stands up and Kurt notes his trembling hands.

“Oh, yes. My ‘always willing to speak to anyone who will listen’ vice president.” President Anderson strolls around to leans up against the desk, his arms folded protectively. “Will one of you remind me why it was a good idea for me to pick him as my running mate two years ago?”

“Well, sir–” Wes starts.

His train of thought is broken, however, by the sound of the study door connected to the Oval opening. Attention then shifts to the First Lady of the United States. 

There’s something about the way Quinn Fabray-Anderson struts into a room that demands control and influence. 

It requires attention, that’s for damn sure.

By her expression, it’s obvious she’s kind of surprised to see Kurt and Wes in the room, but with precision she turns on that killer smile and tilts her chin up for a brief second.

“Oh, Wes and Kurt, so good to see you two.” Quinn saunters over to kiss both men on the cheek, Kurt last. “I feel like the four of us haven’t been in the same room together since the campaign. What’s this little meeting about?”

“The vice president made a few discouraging comments, Quinn, about the upcoming deadline with the Congress bills,” Wes answers.

She rolls her eyes then walks to her husband’s side, straightening his bowtie. “I saw that interview. Where does Sebastian get this stuff?”

“Quinn, shouldn’t you be in the Rose Garden?” President Anderson snaps, his tone clipped and cool.

Kurt and Wes turn to each other at almost the same time and Kurt can feel the tension brewing with that one snide comment.

On paper, the First Couple’s relationship looks flawless. Two kids from the Midwest, who ironically lived a town apart and didn’t know it, met by chance at Harvard. They fell madly in love and a year later were married in the church that Quinn’s parents grew up in.

At least that’s the story Kurt painted two years ago during the election.

He learned quickly while on the campaign trail that that was far from the case.

“Oh, I forgot.” Quinn sarcastically laughs. “I’m the first lady who’s supposed to be twiddling her thumbs in the garden. You two believe where my law degree has gotten me?”

President Anderson rubs his temples. “Quinn, don’t start–”

Before an argument can ensue, Kurt interjects. 

“She could actually be of assistance to us.” 

Then, the plan formulates in Kurt’s mind almost effortlessly, and when he finally comes to, he isn’t actually sure how long he’s been standing there silent.

Quinn squeals. “Ooh, Kurt’s thinking face always means something good. Get it out, Hummel.”

Taking a deep breath, Kurt attempts to ignore the ever-present smirk on the president’s face.

“The media has such a short attention span, so we just have to redirect the conversation. Since the election, Quinn hasn’t been seen a lot so we get her out there to change the narrative. We can have Quinn do the weekly web address today on the White House website and instead of discussing the marriage equality or gun control issues, Quinn can push that education initiative from the campaign.”

“Because no one can be against education,” President Anderson finishes his thought and Kurt nods politely. “That’s brilliant.”

Quinn’s pursed lips are hard for Kurt to read.

“So I’m finally going to get a chance to use my brain for something and push my program, which is _brilliant_ by the way. It’s about overcoming illiteracy, if you all forgot.” She looks directly at Kurt. “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch. Just right place, right time. The news cycle will be focused on that and that gives us time to stall before making a decision involving Congress.”

Wes chimes in. “It’s a good opportunity for you, Quinn. We all know how much you hate doing the typical duties.”

“You’re right. If I have to go to one more soup kitchen--Last time, a homeless man tried to grab my ass.” Her mouth slants, clearly annoyed by something, and then she whispers to her husband. Kurt and Wes take that as a cue to step away a bit to give them some privacy.

“You are fucking amazing,” Wes mumbles, leaning up against the brick walls of the fireplace. “But we both know that was more about getting Quinn out of our hair.”

_He’s not lying._

“Well, yes. We both know that Quinn can be a jet pack full of crazy sometimes. We have to keep her busy or she’ll start straying out on her own and we can’t–”

“Alright, boys. I’ll do it.” Quinn interjects loudly, signaling whatever marriageable spat is over with. “When should my team be ready?”

Kurt looks at his watch. It’s ten a.m.

It’ll need to be posted at three p.m.

“You have until noon,” Kurt informs her.

Giving his team a few hours to do major edits just in case will never hurt.

Quinn claps her hands in excitement. “Fantastic. Glad _someone_ finds me useful these days.”

In typical Fabray-Anderson fashion, she exits the room as dramatically as she entered, glaring back at her husband for a brief second before she rushes out. The president, for his part, looks like he’s been hit by a bus. 

To the rest of the world, President Anderson always appears well put-together, both aesthetically and emotionally, which projects an air of dependability and integrity.

However, the man before Kurt now is much different. The moment Quinn’s out of the room, Kurt watches him head straight toward the end table in the middle of the Oval and pick up the glass liquor decanter that’s halfway filled with a light brown liquid. It’s in the same place it always is, right next to the red presidential buzzer button in a wooden box used to call aides at a moment’s notice.

A button Kurt knows that he actually uses as an alert for when his wife is on her way.

“A little too early for Scotch, don’t ya think, sir?” 

Wes is the only one that can ask the President of the United States about his irregular drinking habits without feeling like his job would later be in jeopardy. The two men aren’t just partners in politics, but best friends in their private lives as well.

“You know that maddening woman causes me to drink before noon. Plus, I didn’t have breakfast because I woke up a little late today.”

“Can’t sleep again, sir?”

_Again?_

Kurt tries to hide his frown at that notion. It’s not like he has a personal stake in the president’s well-being.

Well, not anymore.

“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping very well for quite some time.” Once his glass is full, President Anderson takes a gulp of Scotch and watching him do that sends chills down Kurt’s spine.

It looks painful in more ways than one.

Kurt clears his throat. “Okay, can we discuss what we’re going to do about this Congress legislation now?”

President Anderson’s fiery hazel eyes send him a challenging gaze. “Oh, right. Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was asking why it was a good idea to have Sebastian as my running mate and then I remembered it was _your_ idea.” 

He points at Kurt, who crosses his arms defensively to restrain the hurt he feels.

He’d never let on that he can’t stand the way Blaine _(Mr. President,_ he reminds himself) is looking at him right now.

Kurt steels himself, narrowing his eyes. “We both know _why_ we had to make that decision. Let’s not go back there.”

President Anderson opens his mouth, ready to elaborate on the topic, but then Wes huffs, obviously feeling out of the conversation.

“You two, focus.” He sits on one of the light brown sofas in the middle of the oval carpet and gestures for Kurt to do the same.

And he does, but the edge of light anger is still there.

_Why he is being so challenging?_

_It can’t be all about Quinn._

“Are you closer to any type of decision, Mr. President?” Wes asks as he and Kurt watch him fill up another glass of Scotch.

“Nope,” he emphasizes the ‘p’ with a popping sound. 

Kurt leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, the only way this is going to work is if you make a decision, and quickly. Don’t let Sebastian rush you into a decision. You are the leader of the free world. _You_ call the shots, not him. This is your chance to once again show your dominance and ensure voters they made the right decision electing you.”

“Did they make the right decision?” President Anderson asks to no one in particular, simply staring at the glass in his hand.

“Of course, sir. No one is questioning that.” Wes comforts him, and Kurt would roll his eyes if the man staring at him didn’t have a full military at his arsenal.

When Kurt breaks eye contact, he says, “I think we need to have a decision made on this by tomorrow. That gives everyone time to get their ducks in a row. Then, we announce that it was made _before_ what Sebastian put out there so it looks like we’re ahead of schedule.”

“So, what’s it going to be, Mr. President?” Wes asks.

After a beat, he gulps down the remainder of his Scotch and stands up. “I’ll make a decision tonight, but I need to hear more about what people are saying on the Hill and on the ground. Do what you two do and get back to me with results. I can’t mess this up.”

“Understood, sir,” Wes blurts out.

President Anderson puts down his glass and looks at Wes. “Could Kurt and I have the room for a moment?”

_Oh, no._

Before Wes can respond, Kurt objects. “I actually have a meeting that I’m already late for, Mr. President. Can we schedule something for later?”

Kurt is thankful that he’s mastered the art of lying because President Anderson gives him a questioning look but doesn’t protest any further.

He leaves, glad to make it out alive.

**

“Peter," Kurt says, clutching his second mocha of the day and a black coffee for the man he’s meeting with.

“Kurt.” The man sitting on the park bench looks up at him with a smile. “It's good to see you. It's been a while, yeah?”

Kurt joins him on the bench and hands him his drink. “It really has.” He lets a smile slip out before he turns stoic again. “This meeting isn’t personal though. Strictly professional.”

He licks his lips and eyes Kurt from behind his square black frames. “Is there any chance I can convince you otherwise?”

Kurt’s not falling for those sparkling blue eyes _again._

“Nope. We’re sticking to business this time. Plus, I have to get back to helping this country run smoothly.”

Peter takes a sip of coffee and then replies, “Ahh, you’re a busy man.”

“Exactly.”

“But not so busy as to bribe your news reporter ex-boyfriend with coffee so you can pump him for information?” Peter raises an eyebrow at him.

Kurt pauses for a drink and smirks at him. “Am I that obvious?”

“When you want something? Yes. You have a look.”

“I do not have _‘a look,’”_ Kurt challenges with a raise of his chin, a softening of his eyes, and a slow, enticing smile.

“Yes, you do. You’re doing it right now.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Oh, and you have a little, um--” 

Peter pauses, reaching out to wipe at the corner of Kurt’s mouth. “You always had a weakness for whipped cream,” Peter finishes, pulling away.

Kurt swallows, eyes flickering down to Peter’s fingers. “What are you--? Quit distracting me.”

“Sorry. Force of habit. You were going to tell me why exactly you asked me to come here, and clearly, it’s not to remind me how good we were together. So, what’s your motive today, Kurt?”

“Y’know, you do yourself a disservice when you say you’re just a news reporter. You’re the senior White House correspondent at CNN. You’ve moved up in the world.”

“Suddenly, your motive is much clearer. Official White House business?”

He looks around quickly and lowers his voice. “Off the record? Kind of. On the record? No. I’m not your confidential insider source, Pete.”

Peter leans in a little closer. “What do you wanna know?”

“Hey, focus,” Kurt hushes him. “When it comes to Congress, gay marriage or gun laws? What are your polls showing? CNN always has the best data when it comes to polls so do the American people want to give me the right the marry one day?”

Peter sips his coffee once more with a sigh. _“You_ are married to your work. You’ve made that pretty clear on more than one occasion. But I understand what you’re getting at, Kurt. If you want me to sway anyone, that’s not part of my job description.”

“Humor me,” Kurt replies.

Peter looks at him questioningly. “Don’t you have your own polling people or something? Use your magical White House influence.”

“I am using my magical influence, on you. My magical ex-boyfriend influence. I’m being all charming. I brought you coffee. I brought out the look.”

“So you admit you have a look.” Peter grins.

“Maybe. If you admit you have information on the pulse of America.”

“Fine, but it might cost you. Dinner on Friday?”

“Depends on what you can give me.”

“Well, our newest poll, that isn’t going to be released until next week, by the way,” Peter points out, “shows that conservatives in middle America like their guns so they reluctantly lean toward gay marriage, as they call it, by default, whereas the coasts support nationwide marriage equality because it’s about damn time. School shootings are on the rise, however, so a small section of liberals think something should be done about gun laws before we tackle that other issue.”

Kurt butts in. “In other words, marriage equality has a slight edge, but gun control is a close second. Thanks, Pete, for basically admitting how divided the nation still is.”

“Hey, I report the news. I don’t editorialize, no matter how much I want to. What’s President Anderson going to back?”

“Nice try. I told you, this is off the record.”

“I can’t turn off my inquisitive nature.” Peter lays a hand on Kurt’s knee. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

“No. I’m finished dating, considering what a disaster my love life has become.”

“You should’ve never broken up with me, Kurt. Now you have no reason not to have dinner on Friday.”

“I can’t. I’m busy,” Kurt shoots back, gently prying Peter’s hand off of him.

“Lunch, then?”

“Peter, please.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Peter shrugs. “If I can’t get anything professional out of this, I might as well get something personal.”

“You did. You got coffee and my presence for five minutes.”

“Do you want to keep your boy in a favorable light in the press?”

“Now who’s bribing who? And he’s not my boy. He’s my boss.”

“So? He’s the president. And he’s hot, even if he’s married. I’m gay and I have eyes, Kurt. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s just ridiculous.” Kurt blanches, needing desperately to change the subject. “I can meet you at seven on Thursday. Wear something nice.”

“Knew you’d cave. Thanks for the coffee, by the way,” Peter manages before Kurt gets up to leave. 

That’s when Kurt notices a long lens peeking out of the bushes.

Someone might be watching.

But who?

**

After wracking his brain on how to spin either of President Anderson’s decisions, and thinking about what to make of those cameras, Kurt meets Rachel for the lunch he promised her.

“So, what have you been up to since I last saw you, Mr. Big Shot? Stepping over the little people in those kickass boots, perhaps?” Rachel asks once they’re sitting down at a table on the patio of their favorite restaurant.

“No one is little, Rachel. Have you been hanging out with Quinn too much?”

“Ha ha,” she laughs dryly after taking a sip of water. “I may have answered phones and gotten her coffee when I worked for her back in Ohio, but we were never friends.”

“She liked you enough to get you a job in D.C.”

“Yeah, she got me a day job so I could do dinner theater at some low rent place in Alexandria, far from the lights of Broadway. I should be falling at her feet,” Rachel intones sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Kurt smirks. “Make sure she doesn’t trip over you.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all morning by the way? Wrangling that banshee?”

“No. She’s got plans. She is First Lady Quinn Fabray-Anderson after all. Anyway, I did reluctantly see someone _else_ this morning.”

“Ooh, is it someone I know? A very attractive someone, perhaps? God knows you haven’t dated since--”

“Peter, yeah. That’s who I saw in a strictly professional manner.”

The waitress sets a salad in front of Rachel and a sandwich in front of Kurt, and then promptly departs.

Rachel stabs at the lettuce with her fork. “Why only professional? You should’ve never broken up with him. He’s cute and smart. Works long hours. Your perfect match, Kurt.”

Kurt bides his time for a moment by taking a bite of his food. She’s not exactly wrong. They got along well enough, but there was _something_ lacking in their relationship. They called it quits because Kurt had met someone else who had shown him exactly what his relationship with Peter was missing – a spark.

“I know,” Kurt finally answers after he swallows. “We’re going out on Thursday to catch up.”

“Not to, um, rekindle anything?” Rachel wonders, winking at him.

“No. I owe him a favor after he helped me out today. That’s all.”

“Riiight. You should consider making it a date, though. You’re not getting any younger, babe.”

“Thanks for reminding me, _babe,”_ he says after a huge bite of his sandwich.

“No problem.” She giggles, and Kurt stares over her shoulder, catching a flash out of the corner of his eye. “What are you looking at? Don’t tell me there’s something more interesting than me over there.”

“More interesting than one Rachel Berry? I don't think so. Speaking of which, now that I’ve caught you up on my lack of a love life, why don’t you tell me about yours?”

Kurt half-listens to her rant, his eyes flitting over to where he saw the flash but he doesn’t notice anything more.

Maybe it’s nothing; maybe it’s not.

He’s made plenty of enemies working in the realm of politics, but which one of them wants dirt badly enough to track his every move?

There’s only one person whose help he can enlist in uncovering the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is loosely based on the television show _Scandal._ If you haven't seen the show, it will not hinder the reading experience of this fic.
> 
> [Britt](http://dontfretbaby.tumblr.com) and [Stacey](http://somethingdarrenish.tumblr.com) would like to give a massive thank you to our betas for tackling this complex fic: [Alyssa](http://roblaine.tumblr.com/), [Mags](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/), [Ellie](http://broadwaydarren.tumblr.com) & [Christine](http://christinejaneanderson.tumblr.com/).

In the world of Kurt Hummel, work has always come first.

There’s a big psychological reason behind it. When his mother died, he discovered rarely quickly that he’d rather dive into other things instead of dealing with his feelings.

At least that’s what’s happening now. For over an hour, Kurt and Santana have been going over line by line of data trying to figure out the best legislation to push. The answer is hidden somewhere in between about a thousand word documents of bar graphs and analysis. 

When Kurt thinks they’ve dotted every ‘I’ and crossed every ‘T,’ he still has no definitive answer.

At the very least, he’ll just follow his gut.

It’s hardly ever wrong.

Speaking of, he still has a nagging gut feeling that he’s being followed.

“Alright, Hummel. Spill. What’s going on?” Santana questions Kurt after slamming a file down on his desk and sitting across from him.

“I saw a long camera lens in the park this morning and a flash again this afternoon when I was having lunch with Rachel.”

 _“Rachel?_ Really? What the hell do you see in that hobbit?”

“She’s my friend and she can be sweet, even if she’s a bit self-absorbed, but who isn’t in this town?”

“Point taken.” She shrugs and then props her dark red heels up on Kurt’s desk. “Hmm. Could be one of the Senate majority leader’s goons trying to get intel on what President Anderson will choose.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “And they think I’ll talk about that with my journalist ex-boyfriend and Rachel in a public place? They know me better than that.”

“You have a point there as well. It’s probably personal.” She lowers her reading glasses and asks, “Who’d you piss off most recently?”

“Oh God, where do I start? I turned down that job at Sylvester and Associates six months ago, though I doubt they’d care enough to have me followed. Um, Quinn, but she’d dig her claws into me personally. She's underhanded, but she takes care of business when she needs to. It could be Sebastian wanting to find out how I’ll react to his recent comments. Or-- _Shit.”_

His eyes widen in realization when he remembers a tall man with blonde hair glinting in the sunlight this afternoon.

“That bastard,” Kurt says, more to himself than to Santana.

“What?”

Kurt sits up a little straighter in his ergonomically designed black leather chair. “Nothing. I’ll take care of it.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You sure everything’s okay? I will hand someone’s ass to them if I have to.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the concern. I’ll handle it myself.” Kurt eyes the time. “Why don’t you head out early and go take that girlfriend of yours out for dinner? I can brief President Anderson on all of this.”

Santana smiles in a way that Kurt hardly ever sees. “Guess I could give Brittany a call. I kinda like her.”

Kurt laughs. “You _more_ than like her. Don’t kid yourself. Take her to Komi in Dupont Circle and ask for Michael. He’s the general manager who owes me a favor. He’ll give you guys a good table.”

“Is there someone who _doesn’t_ owe you a favor?” Santana jokes, gathering her things. “Thanks, Kurt. You should try and have a social life some time, too.”

“Then who would get work done around here?” Kurt shrugs. “Go! Get out of here.”

The moment she’s out of sight, Kurt’s bristling, barely controlling his unexpected anger as he dials Rachel’s extension.

“This is Rachel Berry speaking. How may I help you?”

“Is anyone in the Oval?” Kurt rushes out in one breath, seized by rage.

“Uh–hello, Kurt. No one’s in right now, but–”

“Be right there.” Kurt slams down the phone and ignores whatever Marley shouts at him while he’s walking with purpose down the hall.

His jaw is tight and tense when he hears Rachel say something about warning President Anderson before letting Kurt in, but formalities are the last of his worries.

He opens and then slams the door, hearing Rachel squeal in the background. With his arms crossed, his eyes are fixed on the President of the United States hunched over his desk.

Kurt scowls at him, he scowls back and for a beat they are just glaring at each other.

 _“Sam Evans?_ You had Sam tailing me, Blaine?”

When Blaine looks up, his face falls for a second, but he quickly schools it into a more serious expression. “Kurt. Glad you could finally grace me with your presence and drop the ‘Mr. President’ act.”

Kurt shakes his head, striding closer to the desk. “Tell me what the hell you think you're going to accomplish by having one of your Secret Service agents follow me.”

Blaine throws his pen down and clasps his hands together on the desktop. “I need to make sure my people are in line and not sharing sensitive information with certain members of the press who also happen to be ex-boyfriends.”

“Bullshit. You’re not following every single staffer, are you?”

Blaine raises a thick, beautifully sculpted brow. “You’d be surprised. Or maybe you wouldn’t be. I have an entire army at my disposal, Kurt.”

“And you would use it to stalk me? Guess I should tell the American people how their tax dollars are being spent.”

Blaine rises from his chair and Kurt automatically takes three steps back. “You haven’t responded to my accusation, Kurt. Why are you hanging out with that Patrick guy? If you’re trying to leak something–”

Kurt frowns. “First of all, you know his name is Peter. And this conversation is over.” Kurt turns on his heel to leave, but suddenly Blaine is right behind him, grabbing Kurt's wrist. 

“Wait. Can you just talk to me, please?” Blaine begs and Kurt’s heart aches with a feeling he thought he had buried long ago.

But he ignores it in favor of asking, “Why? Why are you acting like this?”

“You refuse to be alone with me. I don’t know what else to do. I had you followed to see–” 

_His answer better be good._

“Spit it out,” Kurt snaps, his anger returning.

“You won’t even take my calls, Kurt,” he explains dejectedly, his exhale harshly hitting Kurt’s ear. “Are you seeing him?”

Kurt turns around then, wrenching his hand away. “Mr. President, it’s none of your concern who I spend my time with.”

“Kurt, are you and your _ex-fiancé_ Peter back together? Answer the damn question,” Blaine shouts and when Kurt looks at him he can see Blaine’s eyes shining with hurt, but Kurt’s blood still boils.

He can’t believe that Blaine would throw a past relationship in his face like this, especially since it happened before he even got involved with Blaine, who has no right to be pissed off anyway, considering he’s already married.

So of course he isn’t going to let Blaine off the hook for his disrespectful and controlling behavior, including a complete lack of trust and the fact that he obviously has no sense of privacy.

“Peter and I are not together, Mr. President, and even if we were, your personal relationship with me is no excuse to have someone track my every move.” 

Blaine steels himself once more, clenching his jaw. “It is, if you’re cavorting with unsavory characters. It makes a mockery of this office. And last I checked, we don’t currently have a personal relationship.”

“Oh, so now Pete is unsavory?”

Blaine sneers. “Don’t call him that in front of me for Christ’s sake.”

“What? I can’t even have a friendly chat with an acquaintance?”

“No, not if you’re risking national security, and he’s more than just an acquaintance, Kurt.”

“I would never do that, _sir._ I have everything under control.” He announces with a harsh glare.

“You do?” Blaine asks, standing merely an inch from Kurt.

“Please don’t doubt me, Mr. President.”

Blaine huffs. “Kurt, quit calling me that.”

“What? That’s what you are. You are the President of the United States Blaine Anderson, the leader of this country, and my boss. I am Kurt Hummel, the White House Communications Director.”

“And that’s all we are?” Blaine steps forward, nearly chest to chest with Kurt.

Up close, Kurt can make out every perfect feature: Blaine’s square jaw, his full, pink lips that are slightly parted, his pretty nose, and those damn eyes piercing right through him.

Kurt takes a deep breath and nods.

“Then tell me you don’t miss me,” he urges, his gaze falling to Kurt’s lips.

“I--I--” Kurt starts, but the words won’t come out.

“Tell me you don't miss me,” he says, his voice pitching lower as he cups Kurt's side with one hand.

“Sir, there are cameras, audio--” 

“Not here,” Blaine reminds him, stepping toward the middle of the seal. “We both know there are blind spots, so tell me the truth because I can’t--I can’t stand seeing you every day and pretending you don't mean anything to me when really, you mean _everything_ to me. Tell me you don't miss me, Kurt.”

“We’re done. You’re married, and I--”

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s other side. “That’s not a real answer.”

“You are crossing so many lines here and I swear--”

“You’re no stranger to crossing lines yourself. Do you miss me or not?”

Kurt will admit to himself that when he goes home at night and can’t fall asleep right away, he thinks of those times when Blaine would stop by his room on the campaign trail for a late-night strategy session. They’d start out talking about work, but eventually Blaine would end up on his knees, making Kurt cry out in pleasure.

“Will you--Will you stop having me followed if I tell you?” Kurt finally replies.

“I promise, if you can be honest with me. It’s been six months since we--I need _something.”_

He pauses, ducking his head and resting his forehead against Blaine’s. “Of course, I--I miss you, but we decided when you became president that--”

“No, _you_ decided, not me. You never gave me a real reason why.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I mean, you are the leader of the fucking free world, who’s not exactly an out and eligible bachelor. You are like the definition of--” 

Blaine’s lips brush against his, but Kurt pulls back.

“Stop it. You smell like Scotch. Speaking of, drinking at ten o’clock in the morning does not suit you very well.”

“I know I shouldn’t be doing it, but I miss you and I don’t--I can’t do this without you,” he says with an air of such desperation that it unexpectedly tugs at Kurt’s heart once again.

“I've been here this whole time. I'm still here, Blaine.” He lets the name fall from his lips affectionately this time.

It feels like breaking the surface and breathing fresh air after nearly drowning underwater for six months.

“You’re not.” He takes Kurt’s face in his hands. “Not really. It’s like you’re here but I can’t touch you or hold you, or-or kiss you, and I--I need you.”

Kurt’s whole body trembles with the touch, but he can’t give in. “If you need advice, just ask me.”

“I don't want your advice. I already have that pretty much guaranteed. That’s why I hired you. I want _you,_ Kurt. I want to hear you laugh after I kiss that spot on your neck. I want to make you beg for more when I haven’t even ripped your clothes off yet. I want to strip you naked and have you gripping the sheets, moaning my name. I want to feel your skin against mine.” He rubs his thumb along Kurt’s cheek. “I want to remember what you sound like when you come. I want you. It’s all I can think about every time you’re near me. Do you realize how distracting you are?”

“I--I can’t be with you like that,” he whispers against Blaine’s mouth. “Not anymore. You--”

Blaine laughs wryly. “I’m married. Don’t remind me. You know how much of a sham that is. Just let me--”

Blaine’s lips are so close that he can practically taste the hint of alcohol mixed with cinnamon gum, but he won’t.

“Why?” Kurt wonders quietly. “So we can go back to sneaking around, so I can have a boyfriend who’s forever trapped in the closet and meeting me for secret rendezvous at hotels, like some--?”

“Don’t. Don’t lower yourself like that. I’m not paying you for sex, Kurt. I--”

“Don’t say whatever you’re about to say. You shouldn’t make declarations if you can’t fully support them. I would think you’d know that by now.”

Blaine closes the gap between their bodies. “Well, it’s true. I really, really care about you.”

Kurt takes a deep breath, trying not to instantly melt into the touch. “Then leave me alone if you care so much. Let me do my job. We can be colleagues, but nothing more.”

“Is that what you want?” Blaine asks, voice dripping with temptation.

Kurt carefully avoids Blaine’s eyes.

“Look at me. Is that what you want?” Blaine repeats.

Kurt obliges him and answers, “Does it matter?”

“Yes. You want me, too, don’t you?”

Kurt swallows. “I want--to not want you, Blaine, but that isn’t possible. I have tried so hard to let you go.”

“You don’t have to. I love how strong you are, but you don’t have to be, not with me.”

Blaine’s staring at him, his golden eyes so earnest that Kurt can’t help pressing his lips to Blaine’s own, softly at first, but Blaine presses back, hard, with his whole body.

Kurt needs something to hold on to, so he reaches out, his hand finding purchase on the arm of a sofa. Blaine grabs that hand and pushes Kurt to sit in that spot, nearly knocking over an end table as he does so, while never breaking their kiss.

Kurt’s other hand grips Blaine’s tiny waist and then drifts up his back, feeling the hard muscles that he used to clutch in the darkness when Blaine had held him. He parts his legs willingly, Blaine stepping between them automatically and letting his hands slide down Kurt’s neck until his thumbs dip into Kurt’s collarbones.

Blaine’s tongue sweeps between Kurt’s parted lips and Kurt opens up for him instinctively. Blaine licks into his mouth eagerly, his knee nudging against Kurt’s groin.

He wants, oh, how he wants, but then he remembers where they are, and who he’s with.

So Kurt breaks away, despite his growing arousal. “We should--we should--”

“Keep going?” Blaine offers, lips trailing across Kurt’s jaw and down his neck. “I’ve always wanted to throw everything off that desk and just--”

“Think about this. There are people outside, microphones inside, and, unhh--”

“And I’ll tell them not to listen. I’m the president, Kurt. I’m the boss, for once in my life.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget that you’re my boss, too. I’m not sure even I could spin this one.”

Blaine pulls back, pouting at him. “You used to be fun. Remember when we--?”

“Stop. You know I can’t resist that face. You’re like a sad puppy.”

“Exactly. I know your weaknesses and you know mine. 'S why we’re so good together.” He nuzzles at Kurt’s neck. “Think about it.”

Blaine untucks Kurt’s shirt and slips his fingers underneath.

“Bl-Blaine, you have a country to run, and I’m supposed to make sure you’re running it.”

“Then keep me in line, Kurt.” Blaine rubs against him some more, his day-old stubble scratching Kurt’s skin.

“You-you’re gonna leave marks.”

“Good.”

Kurt knows how this will end. It will be hot, beautiful, messy sex with a blissful aftermath, but when he’s home _alone_ in a cold bed, his heart always shatters.

No matter how much they fit together, there is no happy ending for Kurt and Blaine.

“Let’s talk for a moment.” Kurt reaches his arms out to push at Blaine’s shoulders. Once he’s a safe distance away, Kurt tucks back in his shirt and smooths out the wrinkles in his jacket

Blaine’s eyes blaze. “Talk? All we’ve done for six months is _talk._ I mean, technically--”

Kurt groans in frustration. “And we are going to talk for a few more minutes, about this legislation.” His voice shifts to a more professional manner. “My gut is telling me that despite what all of the data says, the gun control law is very flawed.”

Inhaling sharply, Blaine says. “I can’t get behind a gun control law that doesn’t also deal directly with the crime problem in America. It’s counterproductive.”

Kurt almost smiles. It’s refreshing to know after all this time they can still be on the same page, at least politically. “Now when it comes to the marriage equality law–”

“It’s not perfect either,” Blaine whispers. “I don’t think Congress will pass it.”

“You’ll change their mind.” Blaine looks at Kurt quizzically and Kurt knows he’ll have to explain further. “This is where you do what you do best, charm the pants off everyone.”

Blaine’s smirk at that comment is hot and distracting.

However, Kurt won’t let himself stray again.

“You know what I mean,” he gulps, trying to regain focus. “Sebastian will be on your side on this issue, which also means he won’t be in our hair. He has some leverage with the West Coast. Plus, this will not only be change to the country, but to the Republican party.”

“Transformation was my campaign slogan.” Blaine’s eyes soften with humor, then he runs his hands through his normally gelled hair. “Whoever thought of that is a genius.”

Kurt bows overdramatically, letting a string of giggles comes out of his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

That familiar pull returns and before Kurt can protest, Blaine’s kissing his knuckles lightly. And with that sweet gesture, Kurt is putty.

“Business is over,” Blaine suddenly declares. “There’s another type of proposition I’d like to go over with you.”

Kurt gazes at him, mystified. “You know how much I love dissecting propositions.”

“I know.” Blaine smiles, visibly relaxing, the presidential side of him tamed. “After the address on Thursday, I’m going to Camp David. Wes thinks it’s a good place to have peace talks with Israel.”

“Camp David,” Kurt sighs. “Oh, how far you’ve come from being a camp counselor at Camp Wyandot.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “Stop reading my autobiography.”

Kurt almost says that he started reading it because he misses him, but doesn’t want to go down that road again.

“Anyway, Camp David. Come with me.”

_“Blaine.”_

“Yes.” Kurt nearly melts at the childlike hope in Blaine’s bright eyes. “Say yes, Kurt. Don’t question it. Don’t beat it to death with your brilliant mind.”

Blaine’s voice trails off, and Kurt can feel Blaine’s body tense up. It’s rare that Kurt sees _this_ side of him – vulnerable and fearful. For the last six months, Kurt’s only seen the political side of the man in front of him: dominant, disciplined, and relentlessly powerful.

Kurt goes against his better judgment when he presses his lips against Blaine’s neck and breathes in his scent; he needs to allow himself one last moment of weakness because he already knows how he’ll answer.

_No._

“I’ll think about it,” Kurt whispers.

“Don’t think,” he says softly, murmuring into Kurt’s hair. “Just say yes.”

They stand in the middle of the Oval Office in the most supreme building in the country for a few dead seconds, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Kurt is the first to squirm out of the embrace and Blaine’s face hardens. 

“Goodbye, Mr. President.”

“Kurt,” Blaine calls in the professional way that Kurt is used to. “See you tomorrow.”

The illusion is over. Reality snaps back in with a vengeance. 

**

It takes days for the feeling of Blaine’s lips to be erased from Kurt’s memory.

Not like he has much of a choice though.

Duty calls.

Work calls, more like it, and lots of it.

It isn’t until Thursday morning when he turns on the television and every news outlet is talking about President Anderson’s press conference later this afternoon. It’s weeks like this that make his job worthwhile, and extremely stressful.

He’ll be glad when it’s all over.

Kurt settles into his car and into the daily hustle and bustle of D.C. traffic.

It’s going to take him quite a while before he gets to Pennsylvania Avenue so he calls to check in with his forever confused secretary.

“Kurt Hummel’s office, this is Marley. How may I help you?”

“Marley, it’s Kurt. Any calls to the office?”

“Y--yes, sir. Let me uh--” Kurt hears a crashing noise and can’t help but roll his eyes. He needs to add ‘Get Marley’s Life Together’ to his to-do list. “So sorry about that.” She clears her throat. “Uh, Mr. Smythe's office called about an hour ago. His secretary told me that he’d like to meet with you before the president’s press conference.”

_What does Sebastian want?_

“And there have been two deliveries this morning as well,” Marley adds.

“What are they?”

“Flowers, sir.”

Kurt’s heart contracts a little. 

Since he met with him on Monday, Peter has sent little gifts to his office ever since.

It’s sweet and Kurt can’t lie and say he isn’t flattered.

Also in the flattering department, Blaine has been all sunshine and roses since Monday as well, and even though Kurt has managed to keep their physical interaction to a minimum, that hasn’t stopped the flirty glances and longing looks at cabinet meetings.

It’s all too much.

“Okay, see you in a moment, Marley.”

“Will do, sir.”

When Marley hangs up, Kurt is left alone again with his thoughts, which has been a constant back and forth about what he’s going to do when it comes to his personal life. That choice gets even harder when he gets to his office and sees two different arrangements of his favorite flowers on his desk.

He first picks up the lilies, tied together with lace that reminds him of his mother.

_Kurt,_

_Hope to see you tonight at Komi. I reserved our table. I know how much you love the view of the Capitol Building._

_Love,_ _Pete_

Kurt smiles at the handwritten card, then breathes in the flowers’ perfect scent, remembering the night Peter said ‘I love you’ for the first time at _their_ table three years ago. Things were so much easier back then, before he got wrapped up in everything Blaine Anderson.

His focus shifts to the massive bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. They’re so gorgeous that Kurt is fighting the urge to take a photo of them to send to Rachel. But then his chest empties out as he stares at the typed card.

_Sam will meet you at the Rose Garden at seven p.m. to transport you to Air Force One without being seen by photographers._

_Don’t be late._

There’s no name attached to the card, but the ‘Office of the President’ paper pretty much gives it away. Kurt tries to stop his eyes welling up that he won’t even question if Blaine wrote it or had anything really to do with it. Rachel probably types cards like this every day.

She probably thought this was being sent to Quinn.

This is just another painful reminder that Kurt will never be nothing more than a side project.

“Kurt,” a soft voice breaks his train of thought. Kurt turns to see Marley peeping her head through the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Are you okay?”

“Yeah–yeah, I’m fine.” Kurt chokes out. “What did you need?”

“Vice President Smythe is here to see you.”

Kurt quickly runs his fingers along his face, removing any type of tearful residue from his cheeks.

“Send him in.”

Sebastian greets him with a plastered on smile. “Kurt, how wonderful to see you this morning.” He shuts the door and takes a seat in front of Kurt’s desk. 

Kurt swallows and resists the urge to fidget in his chair, instead challenging Sebastian with a hard stare. “What can I do for you?”

“Word is Blaine’s backing the marriage equality bill over gun control. Did he forget that he has the perfect weapon at his disposal for this? I mean, hello.” He smiles again and points to himself. “I am the poster boy for this goddamn thing. First gay VP, settled down with a partner of ten years, two beautiful children. Who better than to announce the support of this thing than me?”

Kurt sighs, folding his hands on top of his desk. “Because, Sebastian, you’re not the President of the United States. Furthermore, I think most of the public would assume you support this legislation, given the aforementioned facts. President Anderson, however--”

“Wouldn’t even _be_ President of the United States if it wasn’t for me? Yes, that is absolutely correct, Kurt.” Sebastian’s mouth curls in a taunting sneer.

He is exhausting.

This conversation, wait, _every_ conversation with Sebastian is tiring, and Kurt cringes at flashbacks of the presidential campaign where the man in front of him put the entire Anderson campaign in jeopardy. 

Kurt knows he has to play along though, even if what he really wants to do is slap some sense into Sebastian.

So he contains himself to a verbal sniping.

“Are you implying that he wouldn’t back this bill without you, Mr. Vice President? Because I can assure you that President Anderson supports the rights of _all_ individuals to marry who they choose and that that should not be legally limited by the state in which a citizen lives. It’s part of why he got elected.”

Sebastian tilts his head, fixing Kurt with a look of awe. “Huh. That sounded like a speech that I’m assuming you wrote for him to say later. Man, it’s so nice how he uses you as a crutch to do his dirty work.”

“He doesn’t _use_ me.” 

Kurt tries to camouflage the hurt, disgusted feeling in his stomach, wishing he could spin his latest snide remark into not being his biggest fear.

“Keep telling yourself that, Kurt. I’m sure it makes nights in your cold, lonely apartment just a little bit better.” Sebastian stands up, then smiles and hands him a piece of paper. “Since you weren’t smart enough to think of it, here is what I will be saying before President Anderson speaks today. I’ll need a good five minutes to introduce him. Trust me, I’ll make him look good. I always do.”

When Sebastian winks, Kurt feels a part of his pride die a little. As soon as he’s out the door, Kurt pages Marley and skims over the written copy of Sebastian’s remarks.

“Yes, Mr. Hummel?” She answers politely, seemingly put-together for once.

“Let me know if he meets with President Anderson.”

“Of course, sir. I--I’ll contact Rachel throughout the day and ask her if she’s seen him at all.”

“Thank you, and please be discreet.”

“Of course, Mr. Hummel. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Nothing else except for what your job entails, Miss Rose.”

“Got it, sir. Have a good day,” she replies pleasantly.

“You too.”

He smiles, hoping her words ring true and that he won’t have to put out any more fires today.

**

The half hour before a national broadcasted speech is some of the most stressful moments for a White House staff member.

The presentation has to be stellar and on point with every single detail of the speech equally as important as the last.

Kurt and Santana have been running around like two chickens with their heads cut off, trying to get everything in order.

The cameras.

The media.

The _journalists._

In particular, one journalist, who is sitting in the front row wearing a suit and tie combo that Kurt instantly remembers, is staring daggers at Kurt as he tries to listen to what Santana has planned for her date tonight.

“--and Brittany told me that she’s pregnant.”

Kurt stops glancing at Peter to turn to his right. “Wait, what?”

Santana smacks his shoulder. “I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Kurt rubs his shoulder because, damn, she can hit hard.

“Oh, Peter, Peter, _Peter,”_ Santana almost sings. “He still looks like Gregory Peck.”

Kurt tilts his head to one side as if that’s a more productive way to check someone out from across the Rose Garden. He smirks. 

_She’s right._

“Is Brittany making you watch black and white movies again because she thinks they’re from the Stone Age?”

“Don’t change the subject.” She pauses. “And yes, yes she is.” 

Kurt holds his reply when he sees Sam Evans, the head of the Secret Service detail, starts to scan the premises.

Looking at his watch, Kurt groans. “He’s a few minutes late. Figure out what’s keeping him?”

Santana nods, running toward the White House. Kurt does an about face scanning the crowd of journalists to make sure everyone is in place. He walks out onto the makeshift stage and places the vice president and president’s speeches on the podium.

Santana whispers behind him, “Less than a minute, Kurt.”

She heads to the left side of the Rose Garden with the rest of the staffers and Kurt stands up at the podium and taps the microphone to ensure it’s working.

When he hears feedback, he says, “Good afternoon. I am Kurt Hummel, White House Communications Director. Vice President Sebastian Smythe and President Blaine Anderson will be coming out shortly. Once they have spoken, there will be a fifteen minute question and answer period with journalists. No follow-up questions. President Anderson will call on each journalist in whatever order he sees fit. Thank you.”

Kurt strolls on the unforgiving Rose Garden grass that’s probably ruining his stunning Hugo Boss shoes. Standing in between Wes and Santana, Kurt silently hopes that everything goes according to plan, including Sebastian staying on script.

A few moments later, Sam walks up to the podium and mumbles something into a hidden mouthpiece.

“Sam is so hot,” Kurt hears Santana whisper. “If I wasn’t–”

“Shh!”

Someone from behind them mumbles and Kurt grabs Santana’s hand and squeezes it, attempting to stop her from turning around and going full on Lima Heights Adjacent on somebody like she used to in high school.

She’s gotten a bit tamer in the couple of decades since they graduated the same year from McKinley High and she still packs a punch when she needs to, though not usually in the physical sense.

No one needs to see that side of her, at least not in this situation.

The rows of journalists stand at attention to signal the arrival of the president and vice president. They walk swiftly side by side down the temporary aisle. President Anderson gestures for Sebastian to take the podium, which flashes back to their friendly, or at least what appeared to be friendly, banter from the campaign trail.

Kurt chuckles a little at Sebastian’s ability to not look annoyed.

Kurt and the other White House staffers are standing adjacent to the stage and in full view at the two leaders of the country in front of them. Kurt sees a pair of hazel eyes scan the journalists and then their group, taking a few moments to glance in Kurt’s direction.

In public settings such as this, Kurt and Blaine have developed a sort of code to speak to each other with their eyes. They seem to share brief conversations without any words at all. Blaine’s eyes glimmer with warmth and fondness, settling on Kurt for only a second before switching back to presidential mode.

Kurt allows himself to melt into it for a moment, but then he snaps back into reality when he hears Wes groan. It’s not his normal _‘life is so fucking stressful’_ groan. It’s his _‘I can’t believe he’s saying this’_ mode.

And Kurt sees exactly why when looks up at the stage, where Sebastian is rambling on and on like Charlie Brown’s teacher, completely giving away the president’s platform.

He’s not even sure what he’s saying or its context, but he is instantly regretting not fighting him more about introducing the president.

Time pretty much stops for the next fifteen minutes and Kurt is trying his best to give signals to wrap him up with no avail.

“In closing, I am a proud member of the LGBT community along with my incredible partner of nearly ten years, Wade. We were able to get married in my home state of New York, and it was one of the best days of my life, besides of course Election Day back in November.” Sebastian pauses, obviously waiting for some kind of reaction that doesn’t come. “I am overjoyed that because of our president that millions of Americans can have that exact same feeling one day. Ladies and gentleman, the President of the United States, Blaine Anderson.”

Golf claps sound as the two men shake hands. Kurt sees the president adjust his blue bowtie, something he knows happens when he’s self-conscious.

Kurt wonders why.

This is his element.

“I’d like to thank Vice President Smythe for that introduction.” President Anderson motions at Sebastian. “Also, I feel like now I have to go on and on about how amazing the love of my life is after that speech or I may be in the dog house tonight.” The crowd laughs politely, the tension evaporating. 

Kurt laughs out loud at the joke, also wondering why he didn’t call out Quinn by name, opting instead for “love of my life.”

Listening to Blaine’s speech, which Kurt had a hand in writing, reminds him how far Blaine has come as a politician. When they first met, Blaine was all script, like a robot with no personality whatsoever. He was utterly terrified of showing any type of emotion.

It took Kurt a while to break down his walls to find out exactly why he was the way he was.

Then the real work began. Kurt had slowly built Blaine Devon Anderson into the charming, take-charge President of the United States that appears before the national television audience right now, really selling this marriage equality law that he believes in.

He can’t help but burst with pride a little.

Kurt watches the crowd of journalists listen intently as President Anderson lays out his entire Marriage Equality Act, which allows same-sex marriage nationwide with the same rights and freedoms as hetreosexual couples, including hospital vistations, adoption rights and employment benefits. He hits all of the bullet points Kurt and his team laid out for him prior and it goes better than Kurt had expected.

Then the question and answer period gets underway and thankfully, they’re pretty softball and not too hard-hitting, until President Anderson looks down again at the list of reporters and smirks. “Alright, let’s end this by going to Peter Costello with CNN.”

And since the presidential campaign, this remains the part of a press conference that Kurt simply dreads.

“Yes, Mr. President, sources tell me you were also heavily considering a gun control law to send to Congress. Why was that legislation tossed aside?”

_Fuck._

Kurt shoots daggers at Peter. No one else knows that there was another option. What is he trying to pull?

Thankfully, Kurt’s taught Blaine well.

“Well, I’ve said all throughout the campaign that gun control would be a priority for me. I see both sides of the issue. My wife and I are card carrying members of the NRA, but this does not mean we’ve ignored the string of recent headlines about mass shootings across our nation that could have been avoided. However, this isn’t about guns. It’s about crime. We have to control the crime rate in this country and the legislation you’re referring to does not address that. However, I am working on a way to do just that.”

“So no stricter background checks on guns, sir?” Peter butts in.

Kurt gives a sideways smile. Peter apparently gives zero fucks about his ‘no follow-up’ rule.

“Of course, Peter. You and I both know that gun background checks are necessary--”

“Do you feel pressure by gun manufacturers? Because the head of the NRA has a lot of stock in guns. Therefore, having stricter background checks would affect business for them.”

Peter interrupts again, and Kurt can see Blaine tightly grip the ends of the podium in a bit of frustration.

President Anderson sighs and then looks directly at Peter. “No one pressures the President of the United States. Absolutely no one. I trust my gut.” His eyes lift to the crowd. “No lobbyist, big business or gun manufacturer is going to force me to do anything that I think isn’t in the right interest of the American people. They are my priority. If any decision I make happens to upset the head of the NRA, but it stops yet another school shooting from taking place, so be it. Thank you very much.”

Kurt claps with the rest crowd as the presidential march plays and President Anderson and Vice President Smythe head back into the White House after a few brief waves. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

Peter has never been that combative during a press conference before, at least to his knowledge. Something about that exchange sounded oddly personal.

Or maybe Kurt is just paranoid.

He’s really fucking paranoid.

“You gotta learn to calm your man, Kurt!”

Kurt is half wanting to ask, “Which one?”

Instead he replies, “Peter is Peter, Santana. He likes to show how smart he is sometimes.”

“How smart am I?”

Kurt wants to shove his foot in his mouth at the sound of the voice coming behind him.

_How did he get over here so fast?_

Peter takes Santana’s hand and kisses her knuckles. “Miss Lopez, how are you?”

“Bitchy as ever, Peter. And you?”

She jerks back her hand and Peter nods respectfully, knowing he’s crossed the line.

“I’m good. Hoping I’ll be great later when this guy goes out on a date with me.”

Kurt watches Peter check him out and he lets him.

He does look good today in his black cashmere Armani sport coat and light blue striped button down.

“And _that_ is my cue to leave,” Santana announces before walking away.

Left alone, the tension between Peter and Kurt in a chaotic Rose Garden somehow seems normal. They thrive perfectly here and in similar situations, but when they’re alone together in a quiet space, that’s when things normally go wrong, more accurately Kurt says or does something wrong.

That’s probably why Kurt is hesitant about going on this date. 

“So, are we still on for seven?”

Peter’s eyes are wide with a touch of wildness. He looks like a puppy excited about a new toy.

Kurt has a deep weakness for puppy-like expressions.

“About that, Peter. I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Y’know, I have a lot of my plate work wise…”

 _And I’m considering going to Camp David,_ he adds in his head.

“Thank you for the flowers by the way. They’re very beautiful.”

A smile returns to Peter’s face. “You’re welcome. I know lilies were your mom’s favorite.”

A ping hits Kurt’s heart that is lighter than in years past. 

“They were. They’re my favorite too, but of course, you probably remembered that.” As Kurt tentatively smiles back, he feels someone staring at him and looks behind Peter’s head, spotting Sam Evans.

_Not this again._

“Peter, I have to get back to work, but I’ll get in touch with you soon about tonight, okay? I’ll text you.”

Nodding in response, Peter leans forward to peck Kurt on the cheek before walking away.

_Ugh._

Peter is such a nice guy who really wants to reconnect with Kurt. He’s great, better than Kurt will ever be.

Blaine on the other hand is still having him fucking followed apparently. Kurt walks with purpose over to Sam Evans, who is pretending to talk to someone in his headset.

Kurt yanks the thing from his ear and Sam yelps.

“Hey! You can’t–”

“Yes, yes I can. Didn’t he tell you to stop following me?”

Sam grabs Kurt’s arm and leads him to what Kurt knows is a secure area on the other side of the White House and then into a doorway that Kurt didn’t even know existed.

_A map to the White House probably wouldn’t be a bad idea._

“You’re wrinkling my jacket, Sam. Where are we?” Kurt smooths out his coat and looks around. There are cameras everywhere showing everyone in the White House, including one in the Oval where Kurt can see Blaine looking out of one of the windows.

“We couldn’t have this conversation out there, Kurt,” Sam informs him curtly, removing his shades. “POTUS wanted me to remind you about being at the Rose Garden tonight. Air Force One has to takeoff on time.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, wondering why Blaine couldn’t tell him this himself. 

Then, he’s reminded that he’s a secret; this is how it’s always been and always will be.

“Well, you tell President Anderson that I am not up for request. He can’t just snap his fingers and expect me to show up.” 

Sam appears alarmed by Kurt’s tone. “Okay, sir.”

Kurt takes one more look at the monitors in front of him, including Blaine now sitting pensively at his desk in the Oval.

Then Kurt takes off, soaring into the unknown of being stuck between two men who couldn’t be any more different, but who both have Kurt constantly questioning his gut.

His gut has never been wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is loosely based on the television show _Scandal._ If you haven't seen the show, it will not hinder the reading experience of this fic.
> 
> [Britt](http://dontfretbaby.tumblr.com) and [Stacey](http://somethingdarrenish.tumblr.com) would like to give a massive thank you to our betas for tackling this complex fic: [Alyssa](http://roblaine.tumblr.com/), [Mags](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/), [Ellie](http://broadwaydarren.tumblr.com) & [Christine](http://christinejaneanderson.tumblr.com/).

It’s a little after six and Kurt is pacing in a straight line with Adele’s voice ringing through his office.

This is his process.

Right now, he has her “Make You Feel My Love” cover on repeat because, well, he’s a masochist. 

It’s not until he’s at round eight that _he_ feels like crawling down an avenue, and then Kurt hears a light knock on his door.

He runs over to turn down the music a little then says, “Come in.” Marley peeks her head in and her face is a soft pink, obviously nervous. Kurt’s expression softens. “Yes, Marley?”

“I was just–” Marley walks fully into his office but still keeping her distance. “I was just checking in on you. And I was wondering if I could leave a little early today?”

Kurt’s interest perks up. 

This is a first.

“Hot date tonight?” He jokes.

Marley smiles innocently and Kurt already knows the answer.

“Yes, actually. My boyfriend from back home is in town to visit me. It’s his first time in Washington.”

Kurt ‘oohs’ and crosses his arms. “What do you have planned?”

Distracting himself from his current troubles is probably the best bet for now.

Marley takes a seat in one of the chairs in his office and laughs.

“Honestly, sir, I’ve been so busy at work. I completely forgot he was coming until I saw your flowers come in today. I feel like the worst girlfriend ever.” She sighs, tucking her head in her hands.

Kurt is excited to see her showing some form of personality, but his heart does break for her. The District can be a stressful place to live, and this line of work makes it nearly impossible to have a normal relationship.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, “ Kurt takes a seat in his desk chair. “Having a relationship in this environment can be hard.”

“How do you do it?”

The question surprises Kurt, and that surprise must be obvious on his face by the way Marley’s cheeks continue to blush.

“Sorry, I just–with the flowers today. I just assumed.” She rushes out to defend herself, then she stands up to leave. “That was really inappropriate. I should get back to work.”

“You’re fine, Marley.” Kurt shhs her, gesturing for her to sit back down. “This city can eat you alive, if you allow it. You add relationships into that and it can get sticky.”

“So, the flowers?”

Kurt freezes then blurts out. “What about them?”

“You obviously make it work to have two different people sending you flowers. I noticed.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit, Marley.” 

She laughs. “You kidding me? If I can be really honest here, you really are an inspiration to me. You have everything together from work to obviously your personal life.” She points at the flowers. “You have it all.”

Kurt doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t really have his shit together at all.

But he does have an image to maintain.

“In this town, people can be deceiving.” Kurt remarks, looking off to the side. Then he turns his attention back at Marley. “As for relationships, they can be deceiving too, but you don’t have to fall into that pattern.”

“Oh, Jake and I won’t. That’s my boyfriend’s name,” Marley adds on with a glowing look of affection on her face. “We met back in high school.”

For the first time, Kurt starts to see the similarities between himself and Marley.

Or at least how he _used_ to be.

He used to be a hopeless romantic who fell unexpectedly at the drop of a dime. That’s how he was when he met Peter. It was light, fun and easy to be in a relationship with him. Peter didn’t force Kurt to be anything other than himself. 

Kurt remembers being ecstatic and feeling so secure with everything in his life when he and Peter decided to get married in the most official way.

There was no over the top proposal. Actually, they were having Chinese takeout watching _Real Housewives of London._ It was one of those over the top wedding episodes where drinks were thrown and other usual housewives drama went down. Peter joked that Kurt would totally be a groomzilla. Kurt, of course, disagreed. 

However, in true Kurt Hummel fashion, somehow that simple conversation turned into Kurt laying out their entire wedding. Next thing he knew, they were engaged.

No romance.

All business.

Over time, the reality of the wedding hit him, and something in Kurt told him that things just weren’t right.

That maybe they weren’t supposed to spend the rest of their lives together.

A few days after Kurt broke things off with Peter, he answered a phone call from his old friend Wes to assist on a presidential campaign. Kurt knew it would do wonders for his career and he just needed to get away.

And _away_ he got – away from logic, reason and his gut, falling ridiculously in love with the most unavailable man in the country. He paid the price for it in the end, so much so that now his heart is guarded in Secret Service-like fashion.

But Kurt cannot ignore the painful feeling in his stomach as Marley talks about the love of her life.

He can’t help but miss the overwhelming emotion that comes with being in love.

“Well, this Jake sounds like a standup guy. You should take him to Tap & Shake for burgers and eat at the Washington Monument. It’s one of the best view in town. Take off early,” Kurt instructs as the clock strikes thirty minutes after six.

“Really? I can come in early tomorrow if you want.”

“Go before I change my mind, Marley.”

Marley looks as if she wants to walk over and hug Kurt but decides against it.

_Good thinking._

He can hear giggles and a quiet cheer of _“Yes!”_ when she leaves. As soon as she’s out of sight, Kurt turns back up his Adele, catching the end of the song.

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the Earth for you to make you feel my love._

He can no longer keep a lid on his chest-wrenching emotions, a few unbidden tears streaming down his face.

He hadn’t cried since he and Blaine ended things and his wet cheeks serve as an unfriendly reminder. Now that he thinks about it, Kurt cried more times than he’d like to admit during his relationship with Blaine.

In the beginning, it was tears of frustration for falling for a married man running for the most powerful position in the country. He cried over how stupid he was for even entertaining the idea that they could be something more. Then there were the tears of joy when they finally let their emotions take over, but those were followed by tears of guilt. 

There were also the type of tears shed during the most passionate sex of his life.

Those were _very_ often.

However, it’s always times like this that are the hardest for Kurt. 

The sobbing that occurs when he accepts the fact that no matter what anyone says or what anyone does, he will never love or be loved like that again.

Further, he’ll also never feel pain like that.

That’s what his gut says and it’s never wrong.

It’s then that the choice that he’s been debating all week becomes extremely clear, so much so that it’s not even really a choice at all.

And before he knows it, his feet are moving ahead and his heart is leading the way, no matter how much it might further damage him.

He doesn’t even care anymore because the Kurt Hummel who fell in love with Blaine Anderson two years ago is dead and gone, and so is the Kurt who wanted to marry Peter with dreams of a happily ever after. The new and improved Kurt knows better and will do better. He knows that this is no fairytale and no prince is going to save him on a white horse.

So when in doubt, it takes more than Kurt’s gut to make this type of decision. It takes his heart.

This time around, his heart wants what it wants, despite the consequences.

They don’t seem to matter though, because he won’t be fully satisfied either way. 

At least this time around, Kurt knows what he’s getting himself into -- a beautiful, difficult, ridiculous, all-consuming mess.

And he’ll love and hate every single moment of it.

“Mr. Hummel, right on time.”

Kurt turns around in the Rose Garden to see Sam. He nods and then allows Sam to lead him to a black tinted SUV. He doesn’t say a word on the ten minute drive to wherever they’re going. Kurt doesn’t dare to ask.

When they stop, Sam rushes over to open his door. Kurt walks out on the airport tarmac and lays his eyes on the incredible Air Force One aircraft. Sam guides him up the long staircase leading to the plane’s interior and it’s like he’s walking on a cloud, though the plane has yet to hit the sky.

Once inside, it’s more historically stimulating than he imagined. 

He wonders how many decisions that shaped the nation have happened on board this airplane and others like it.

“If you would take a seat Mr. Hummel, we will be moving to where President Anderson will come aboard. It will take us less than an hour to get to Camp David,” Sam tells Kurt.

“Okay, Sam. Thank you.”

Sam departs, stepping outside to wait for the president.

It’s not too long after buckling in that Kurt hears commotion from the cockpit and the plane starts to move. A flight attendant then makes her presence known from a hidden area.

“Mr. Hummel, welcome aboard Air Force One. Can I start you off with a beverage? Champagne, perhaps?”

“Yes, please.” That’s about all he can manage.

Champagne has always been able to calm his nerves, and what a bundle of nerves he has. While he’s thinking about it, he whips out his phone and sends a quick text to Marley informing her that he won’t be in tomorrow and to send all of his phone calls to Santana. He also answers the slew of messages from Peter.

_Sorry, Peter. Something came up. Raincheck?_

Before Kurt can read his heartbroken reply, he shuts off his phone completely and shoves it back into his coat pocket. He knows he won’t be needing it for the next three days.

Looking out of the window, he sees a line of photographers and news crews as the plane continues to move. Soon after, Kurt watches another black SUV pull onto the tarmac and political chaos ensues as the President of the United States waves at the media before making his way onto Air Force One for a weekend away at Camp David discussing foreign policy with the newly-elected prime minister of Israel and the long-time Israeli prime minister.

That’ll be the headline tonight anyway.

It’s only half true, however. Israel’s top leader won’t actually be arriving until tomorrow morning and President Anderson won’t be spending the night refining his negotiation techniques.

Instead, he’ll be with Kurt, which makes his heart swell a little.

Then his heart completely overflows when he has a full view of Blaine, who steps onto the plane with a Secret Service agent that isn’t Sam. It’s almost as if he’s watching in slow motion as Blaine takes off his sports coat and hands it to one of the flight attendants, his arm muscles bulging out of his dress shirt. When he sees Kurt, his million watt smile beams as he undoes the top few buttons of his shirt.

He’s intoxicating, _very_ intoxicating. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. 

“Kurt,” Blaine greets him in that soft tone he reserves for when they’re together in private. “Glad you could make it.”

He’s so fucking sexy and the way he’s looking at Kurt makes _him_ feel sexy. His gaze is blazing, burning into him so much that the hunger, longing and anxiety in Kurt feels like one big jumbled mess that he can’t handle.

He needs to keep it together.

Kurt shrugs. “I figure if the leader of the free world can make time for me, maybe I should make time for him.”

Blaine beams at him. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Then with a more polite grin, Blaine dismisses the agent guarding him, and watches him walk over to a small section closed off with a curtain.

When they’re finally alone, Blaine speaks again.

He sits down next to Kurt, eyes flickering to his mouth. “I’ve missed you this week.”

“I--I missed you too,” he replies tentatively.

Blaine settles for a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. He pulls away, a dark look in his eyes that signals he’s ready for more when the attendant appears, clearing her throat.

“Mr. President, sir, can I get you anything?”

He turns toward her and smiles politely. “Yes, I’ll take a glass of champagne, Louise. Thank you.”

She retreats and Blaine turns back to Kurt. Blinking a couple times, Blaine studies him as if in awe. Then that lazy, sexy smile appears on his face. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He takes Kurt’s hand and kisses it. “You look fantastic.”

This is the part where Kurt normally falls to pieces, nuzzling up to every single inch of Blaine Anderson.

It’s different this time around.

“So I’m glad the speech went off without a hitch,” Kurt starts. “Well, mostly, except for Sebastian’s rambling. I would have had to do something if it went on any longer.”

“We’re finally alone again and you wanna talk business, Kurt?” Blaine laughs. “I thought we could, um, forget about that for a little while.”

“Why? Isn’t this what this whole trip is about?” Kurt raises an eyebrow playfully.

“Yes, but it’s business mixed with pleasure.” Blaine grins.

Kurt swallows. “Is it now?”

Blaine nods. “C’mere.”

“Blaine, I--” he starts, but is cut off with a proper kiss on the mouth. He inhales his sexy scent, his body beginning to fill with arousal.

He tastes almost exactly as Kurt remembers, minus the alcohol from earlier in the week. Kurt can’t help deepening it a little. Gripped by a familiar emotion, he slides his hand up Blaine’s thigh and Blaine returns the kiss eagerly at first but then he pulls away breathlessly.

“Kurt,” he whispers. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about _this,_ all week. God, seeing you every day and remembering what you taste like here,” his thumb brushes along the bow of Kurt’s parted lips, and then he cups Kurt’s jaw, “and here. I couldn’t help imagining how you taste everywhere.”

He feels his resolve crumbling as he answers, “You--You already know.”

Blaine smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Kurt nods, unable to form words.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind getting more intimately reacquainted with each and every part.” He leans in once more, kissing down Kurt’s neck.

“Blaine,” Kurt groans, “there are people here.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides, breath hot on the crook of Kurt’s neck, “can’t use that excuse. There are only two people who could walk in on us, and I’m sure,” he kisses back up Kurt’s neck, “they’ll ignore us if they realize what’s happening. I’ve instructed them on the importance of discretion.”

“At least, unhh, wait until after we take off.”

Blaine licks at that spot behind Kurt’s ear, the one he knows is sensitive. “Why? So we could join the Mile High Club?”

Kurt chuckles, briefly considering it as Blaine’s knee knocks against his. “We totally should not do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Be-because look where we are. So much history here.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sure Bill and Hillary had loads of fun on this plane.” Blaine goes for Kurt’s neck again in _that_ spot.

“We don’t have enough time,” Kurt manages to say.

Blaine sighs, dropping his forehead to Kurt’s shoulder. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Kurt doesn’t think so because if he was, he’d be having a nice dinner in a restaurant with someone is completely and totally available, and someone who wants him.

But Blaine wants him too, and Kurt can’t deny him anything.

“You gotta admit, it’d be pretty amazing though,” Blaine continues, his fingers running down the lapel of Kurt’s jacket.

“Perhaps, but think of the anticipation.” He pets the back of Blaine’s head despite the stiff product still present in his hair.

Blaine looks up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “I’ve already waited long enough.”

Before Kurt can reply, Louise returns, glass in hand. “Your champagne, sir. We’ll be taking off shortly.”

He turns, taking the drink from her and then quickly dismissing her. “Thank you. That will be all for now.”

“Yes, sir.” 

She leaves and Kurt clinks his glass with Blaine’s. “Anyway, Mr. President, we should be celebrating. No ringing phones, no annoying VPs around.”

“No annoying other people,” Blaine adds with a clenched jaw, though Kurt knows exactly who he means – Quinn.

Kurt kicks that thought out of his head. It’s too difficult to think about the actual situation that he’s found himself in.

_Dating a married closeted politician is a struggle._

“Very true,” Kurt remarks, taking a long sip as the plane jolts forward. “Oh! Here we go.”

Blaine laughs, downing the rest of his champagne. “We’re just getting started, Kurt. I want you so badly. Six months is too long.”

Kurt wants to ask _exactly_ how long it’s been for him, but he’s afraid to find out the answer. His stomach turns when he thinks of the possibility of Blaine sleeping with anyone else.

It’s kind of hypocritical of him, however, given that he’s had a few meaningless trysts in the last six months, so he swallows down his questions and dives in for another taste of the man before him.

For now, he’s thankful that he’s the one who gets to have him, eager and so, so willing.

**

He’s also thankful that Blaine has never been lacking in pleasing people, and that skill definitely translates to more personal areas.

By the time they land nearly half an hour later, Kurt’s whole body is flushed and his shirt is more than a little rumpled, as is Blaine’s.

A thrill runs through Kurt that he gets to see Blaine undone like this again, in some ways even more attractive than the well put-together version of himself that he presents to the rest of the world.

Still, he helps Blaine button up and tuck his shirt back in anyway.

“Do I have to look presentable, Kurt? We’re only going to be taking them off soon.” He goes for the remainder of Kurt’s buttons but Kurt bats him away.

“Yes, Mr. President, on the off chance that any press is already here.”

“We are in the middle of the wilderness. No one comes here until we call them, Kurt. C’mon, I thought you were finally letting loose.”

“And I will again, when we have a bed to do it in.” Kurt smiles, his arousal stirring once more.

Blaine grabs his jacket and grins. “Fine. Then what are we waiting for?”

Blaine calls the agent that he arrived with, who steps out from behind the curtain with a nod.

As they all depart the plane together, surrounded by even more agents, a black SUV drives up about a hundred feet away with Sam coming out of the driver’s seat and carrying a suitcase.

Blaine shrugs, taking Kurt’s hand. “Can’t shake the security detail, but I can tell him not to listen. Just a reminder because I know how loud you can get.”

Kurt blushes, hating how Blaine can reduce him to a swooning teenager in a matter of seconds.

Also making him swoon is the incredible landscape of Camp David. The estate, which sits atop a hill, has too many acres to see it all at once. They head up the walkway to the Aspen Lodge, where they’ll be spending most of their time. A few Secret Service agents make their way out of the lodge and Kurt sees them brief Sam.

“The area is secure, Mr. President,” Sam says, opening the huge wooden door for them to enter.

Kurt’s jaw drops taking in the large living room with an over the top bay window that looks out to a patio with numerous trees outside. The humble outside is nothing compared to the lavish decor inside, complete with a fireplace and lush white couches. The floors are rustic, bare wood but somehow still charming and even romantic.

The seclusion factor of this atmosphere is a bit overwhelming.

“Suddenly, I feel a little overdressed,” Kurt finally comments.

“And this is normally a guest cabin.” Blaine laughs. “You should see the main house.”

He wonders why Blaine didn’t take him there instead but he doesn’t want to dwell on the negative, so he flirts.

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of anything besides you, Mr. President.”

Sam clears his throat from behind them. “Sir, we’re going to scan the rest of the premises. An agent will be near just in case.”

“Thank you, Sam. That will be all,” Blaine tells him, a professional air to his voice. 

With that, Sam exits the room and Blaine turns to Kurt with a sexy smile. His hands wrap around Kurt’s waist and pull him close. “Have I ever told how hot it is when you call me Mr. President? Especially, y’know, now that I actually am the president.”

Kurt’s breath catches with Blaine’s mouth, and the rest of him, so close. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh. Can we, um, finish what we started earlier?”

Blaine’s lips land on his once more and Kurt loosens his hand from Blaine’s grasp, letting it fall to the side.

Blaine squeezes both of Kurt’s hips, walking them backward. Then Kurt returns the kiss, relishing the taste that he’s thought about more times than he cares to admit.

Before Kurt can even think any further, he’s flat on his back, a soft, plush surface underneath him, and Blaine above him, his spit-slick mouth parted as he stares. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Blaine allows Kurt a few moments to take in his surroundings. They’re now in a bedroom with wood decor similar to the main room and a burning fireplace lit in the background.

This _can’t_ be real.

“Considering where we are right now, you’re still the best view in this room,” Kurt answers.

Blaine gives him a shy, almost boyish grin before kissing him and undoing Kurt’s buttons, his hands slipping underneath Kurt’s shirt to get at the warm skin of his stomach.

Kurt thrusts up, his own hands rucking up Blaine’s shirt and gliding up his back but then Kurt pulls away to murmur, “Take it off.”

Blaine wordlessly obliges, never breaking eye contact with Kurt as he strips his shirt off.

Now it’s Kurt’s turn to stare. 

Blaine is still somewhat trim but his stomach hangs just a bit over his pants in a way that it didn’t before, not that Kurt minds. It’ll be perfect for resting his head on during the lazy afterglow.

Blaine’s eyes dart away from his, a little tick when he’s feeling self-conscious.

Kurt removes his own shirt and brings Blaine back, cupping his cheek sweetly. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I wasn’t lying about the view before. It’s even better now.”

Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt’s own. “Kurt, I--”

He quiets him with a peck on the lips, and then another. “Shh. Don’t.” He kisses the corner of Blaine's mouth, his jaw, a sensitive spot right below his ear. “I don’t wanna talk anymore.”

Blaine moans Kurt’s name, barely audible but it stirs something in Kurt, so Kurt brushes his lips down Blaine’s neck and flips them over, laying Blaine on his back. He kisses down the middle of Blaine’s chest, trailing his mouth over to a tiny nipple and sucking on it.

Blaine arches into it, one of his hands gripping the back of Kurt’s head. Kurt flicks his tongue out over the hardened nub, enjoying how responsive Blaine’s body has always been to him.

Then he drags his tongue across Blaine’s chest until he reaches the other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

"Ohh, ohh, Kurt,” he grunts out, voice already deliciously low.

“We’re just getting started.” Kurt chuckles against Blaine’s skin and places hot kisses down the middle of Blaine’s torso, all the way to his waistband. “Can I--?” He starts, but Blaine cuts him off.

“Yes. Just--yes.”

Kurt slowly unbuckles Blaine’s pants and helps him shimmy them down his legs. He can’t resist mouthing at the base of Blaine’s still-clothed cock and working his way up the shaft, eliciting quiet curses from Blaine.

Kurt finally peels off Blaine’s briefs, his semi-erection springing free. Of course he’s seen Blaine naked before, but it’s been a while so he’s taking his sweet time admiring every inch of him. There’s so much of his beautiful olive skin on display that Kurt’s mouth waters with the urge to explore every inch of it.

Kurt nudges Blaine’s legs open a little further and Blaine bends his knees and plants his feet flat in response. Then Kurt bends to tentatively lick at the head of Blaine’s cock, glancing up at Blaine’s face.

Blaine’s eyes are already blissfully hazy as he reaches out to clutch the back of Kurt’s head, which spurs Kurt on to wrap his hand around the base and take him in properly.

His thumb grazes one of Blaine’s balls and then his other hand massages the other one. As he loosens his jaw to take Blaine in further, Blaine’s hips thrust off the mattress.

Blaine apologizes, but Kurt reaches out his forearm to lay across Blaine’s hips and pin him down, which Blaine secretly likes, if the way his body relaxes is any indication.

Kurt keeps at it, his head bobbing up and down rhythmically as he gets lost in the taste of Blaine on his tongue, masculine, hot and so achingly familiar. Blaine’s precome slides down his throat and Blaine taps Kurt’s shoulder.

“Unhh, I--I can’t. C’mere.”

Kurt pulls off with a wet pop and a question in his eyes, but crawls up to meet him.

“I--Not gonna last. I need you,” Blaine breathes out, his hand ghosting down the back of Kurt’s neck. 

“You have me,” Kurt answers without hesitation.

“I need,” Blaine starts against Kurt’s lips. “Need to touch you.”

Kurt kisses him then and lets Blaine roll them over and take control once more.

Blaine grinds against him and finally unbuttons Kurt’s pants, reaching inside to grasp at his half-hard cock. 

The touch is dry and rough, but knowing that it’s Blaine is enough to bring him to full arousal. 

Blaine kisses down his neck and breaks away to confess, “I-I missed this. Missed you so much, Kurt.”

“I--oh,” Kurt gasps on an upstroke when Blaine’s thumb swipes across the slit in the head. “Missed you too.”

“Yeah?” Blaine whispers. “Did you think of me when you--Did you?”

Kurt hesitates, recalling lonely nights with nothing but lube and his favorite porn, which would almost do the trick, until his body begged for release. That was when his traitorous mind thought of Blaine.

“Y-yes.”

“Me too. All the time, Kurt.”

His hands drift down to Blaine’s ass and squeeze. “Really? Tell me.”

“You, uhh,” Blaine grunts into Kurt’s shoulder as he continues jerking him off, “you were all I could think about. I--Only you, Kurt.”

He wonders what exactly Blaine means by that, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he wraps one hand around Blaine’s cock and strokes him, the precome and saliva messily coating his grip.

“Oh, fuck,” Blaine babbles, his hand stilling. “So good. Don’t stop. Wanna, unhh--” he stops, kissing the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and then catching his lips in a dirty kiss.

Blaine trembles against him, suddenly spilling over Kurt’s fist and onto the open fly of Kurt’s pants. “Sorry.” Blaine pulls away when he finishes, murmuring his apology into Kurt’s skin and stroking him lazily.

Kurt’s eyes fall shut, Blaine gently touching him like he’s precious and fragile.

But Kurt doesn't want that.

He can’t take it.

“H-harder,” Kurt moans, and Blaine listens.

He pauses to lick his hand and jerks Kurt fast and rough.

“C’mon, baby,” Blaine urges and then, he’s _there,_ releasing between them.

When he’s finally back to himself, he finds Blaine sweetly nuzzling at his neck, such a contrast to the strong, confident man he sees every day at the Oval. 

“I love seeing you like this,” Blaine tells him between kisses along his neck. “Finally letting go.”

“I should say the same, but I don’t think I have any words left in me.”

“Then don’t say anything.” Blaine rolls off of him and curls on his side, away from Kurt. “Cuddle with me instead.”

Kurt slips off his pants and underwear, settling behind Blaine. This is the part he missed the most, the Blaine who craves affection and who doesn’t need to fill in the spaces with conversation, content to let them silently breathe each other in.

Kurt kisses Blaine’s shoulder and then closes his eyes. As Blaine snugly fits against him, he feels like he’s back where he belongs.

**

It’s been awhile since Kurt’s woken up feeling boneless and smiling.

But being with Blaine Anderson does that to a guy.

_Scratch that._

Being with the President of the United States does that to a guy.

It never lasts though.

Like always, he turns to a cold mattress next to him. Blaine always has to be somewhere else, whether it’s a political-related appointment or back to make sure Quinn doesn’t realize he’s gone. When Kurt really thinks about it, he’s never woken up and had Blaine by his side.

It hurts more and more every time.

Somehow he imagined the morning after their big reunion to be more romantic, or maybe at least have another round of orgasms. Kurt kicks himself for being stupid enough to think things would be different this time, especially after six months apart.

What’s really sad is that despite knowing better, Kurt didn’t waste any time letting Blaine whisk him away and get him naked shortly thereafter.

No need to bring it up to Blaine though.

He’s a busy man, the leader of the free world. Blaine isn’t his husband who’s in the kitchen making him breakfast.

Even though Kurt wishes he could be one day.

_No, that’s ridiculous._

Kurt knows what this is and fully accepts his role. They aren’t together, but they aren’t apart. They are, well, whatever the fuck they are.

Then his musings are interrupted by his grumbling stomach, leading him to wonder how to get food and who he should call. Then he wonders where he can get some clean clothes.

He shifts onto his stomach and turns his head, noticing a note on the nightstand.

It’s Blaine’s M.O.

_Kurt,_

_Sorry I had to leave. It was so early and I wanted to let you sleep. You looked so peaceful that I wished I could have stayed with you longer. But I’ll be back later briefly around lunch and I’ll join you once more tonight. I’m already counting down the minutes._

_All my love,_ _Blaine_

_P.S. Last night was just the beginning. Can’t wait for round two._

Unlike the card accompanying the flowers, this one is handwritten in Blaine’s messy script. It’s sort of professional but still personal, and it makes Kurt’s heart soar.

He holds it to his chest like a high school kid who found a note from a secret admirer in his locker; he only hoped to be so lucky as to have someone like Blaine then, but he has him now.

Except he doesn’t, not really, because the whole world knows Blaine as this charming, decisive man, happily married to someone who isn’t Kurt. Blaine is so important now that everyone wants a piece of him, mostly thanks to Kurt himself.

Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t so great at his job. Maybe then Blaine wouldn’t be the president, forced to make tough decisions that are sometimes literally life or death (Kurt’s seen firsthand how much agony it’s caused him). Furthermore, on a personal level, he wouldn’t be trapped in a superficial relationship with Quinn and Kurt wouldn’t have to desperately scrounge for any bit of affection from him.

Maybe they could be happy and Blaine would still be here with him.

At the same time, however, Blaine had always seemed destined to affect change on a higher scale, and it would feel wrong and selfish to deny him of such potential when the country and the world need him more than Kurt does.

Isn’t letting go part of loving someone too?

He sighs and stretches, seeing no other way but to shower and search for an agent who will have information about where he can get a decent meal.

He walks out into the main room and looks out the front door, encountering Sam just outside. As if he can sense Kurt’s presence, he strides into the house and removes his earpiece.

“He’s instructed you to stay in the cabin for the time being, Mr. Hummel. The housemaid is in the kitchen if you need anything,” Sam instructs and then returns to his post guarding the front door.

Kurt wants to ask why the head of Blaine’s Secret Service detail isn’t _with_ him. Then, the thought of Blaine putting Kurt’s safety before his own sends his emotions ablaze.

With more of a spring in his step, Kurt strolls into the kitchen and finds an older Hispanic woman cutting oranges on a chopping block. When she looks up, her posture changes and stiffens.

“Hello, Mr. Hummel, would you like fresh orange juice?”

“Y–yes. Thank you,” Kurt coughs out, while memories of the previous night flash back to him. His throat is dry for a very, _very_ good reason.

Kurt peeps at the name tag the woman is wearing so when she asks what he wants to eat, he says, “Jackie, right?”

She nods.

“Great. I’ll just have an omelette, Jackie. Thank you.”

“Spinach and mushroom fine with you?”

Kurt starts to hear his stomach grumble a little. “That’s perfect, Jackie. Thank you.”

She hands him a freshly made glass of orange juice before getting to work in the kitchen. Kurt takes a seat at the breakfast bar.

While Jackie is whipping up something that’s bound to taste wonderful, Kurt sees Sam poking his head into the kitchen. Kurt wonders how hard it must be to spend your entire life protecting someone else and that other person being the constant priority, not to mention the added pressure of keeping Blaine’s extramarital affair under wraps at all times.

_Does he ever sleep?_

Kurt isn’t sure, but the bags under his eyes are visible even when he wears sunglasses. 

Still, Kurt is grateful for him and a little guilty for being some of the cause of that stress last night.

God knows what Sam heard from them and had to ignore.

Sam is probably aware that discretion is now part of his job description if he wants to stay employed.

So as a peace offering of sorts, Kurt quietly asks Jackie to make another plate of bacon and eggs. Once she’s done and the beautiful omelette in front of him is mouth-watering perfection, he turns in Sam’s direction.

“There are eggs and bacon over here for you, Sam. Come eat something,” Kurt insists.

Sam clears his throat. “Uh–I can’t. That can’t happen, sir.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Yes, it can. Bla–I mean, President Anderson won’t mind if you take five minutes to have a little breakfast. C’mon, sit.” He gestures to a chair on the other end of the bar.

After a beat, Sam puts his sunglasses on top of his head as he makes his way over and then takes a seat. Kurt smiles inwardly at his little victory. 

Jackie also seizes the opportunity, asking if he wants a cup of coffee. He accepts and literally tears into his meal.

Observing him, Kurt remembers when he and Wes were interviewing for Sam’s position and how he just _looked_ so trustworthy. Sure, his credentials were top notch, but he just seemed like a normal and nice guy. And for someone like Blaine that’s a must.

Despite Blaine’s family background, which is engulfed in money and power, he prides himself in showing respect for the common man and likes to surround himself with people who fit that moniker, which Sam does perfectly.

It probably takes Sam less than five minutes to clean his plate. He mumbles a thank you to Jackie and then turns to him.

“Thank you, Kurt.”

“You’re welcome. You gotta eat.” He laughs.

“The president of Israel arrived an hour or so ago. President Anderson should be back a few hours from now for lunch. He requested to have it here.”

“Oh–okay, thanks for telling me.”

Sam starts to walk away and then turns back to Kurt. “By the way, Kurt, I want you to know that when it comes to you and President Anderson that I can be trusted.”

_Oh?_

Kurt’s frozen so he stares blankly at Sam, who puts his sunglasses back on and politely walks away.

_Well, that was surprising._

Equally shocking is the fact that Blaine is meeting with a foreign leader without consulting with him what the game plan will be.

It’s hard for Kurt not to have control in these moments. His mind is going a mile a minute, wondering what exactly Blaine’s discussing with one of America’s biggest allies. 

The goal of this Camp David visit is to strengthen relations with the country. The United States still has a lot of enemies abroad and previous presidents before Blaine didn’t give him much to go on. So it was one of Kurt’s perfectly planned out platforms during the campaign to use Blaine’s charming personality, and his niche for foreign relations, to show that he could improve the country’s relationship with other nations. 

That’s really what won them the election in the end.

Kurt knows Blaine is good at what he does, but he hopes Wes gave him talking points, especially since if things go well this weekend politically, the leaders will accept Blaine’s invitation to a state dinner in a few weeks.

There’s no better way to show the American people Blaine’s affable and welcoming personality than to throw an extravagant, over the top dinner where world leaders come from far and wide to be wined and dined.

Kurt puts all of that in the back of his mind for now. He’ll have _plenty_ of time to agonize over that in the coming weeks. For now, he wants to enjoy his mini-vacation with the man who’s finally giving him his undivided attention.

**

Kurt hasn’t spent an entire afternoon in pajamas since his freshman year of college when he got stuck with the flu during finals week.

It’s also the only time he’s been sick in over two decades.

For a man who feeds off of adrenaline, it’s kind of humbling to sit on the wooden porch with a piping hot cup of tea and a good book, _Jackie Kennedy: After The White House._

About lunch time, Sam comes by to tell him that Blaine won’t be able to make it back to him with the excuse of meetings running long. Kurt doesn’t protest, though. Honestly, it’s nice having alone time.

Also something he hasn’t had the luxury of since the Anderson campaign took over his life two years ago.

Then Jackie, who makes the best omelette he’s ever had, also makes him a Monte Cristo sandwich for lunch, which is to die for.

Kurt loses track of how long he spends outside, but the cold wind is a freezing reminder.

He puts a bookmark on page 202 and makes his way inside.

An old grandfather clock in the cabin tells him it’s almost six p.m.

Still no sign of Blaine though.

He uses the time he has to get ready for dinner. It’s been awhile since he and Blaine have gone on a date or at least their _version_ of a date.

A date for them normally consisted of lunch dates cleverly disguised as business-related and surrounded by paparazzi or whispered conservation in the back of the campaign bus, or his personal favorite, late night sex sessions in his hotel room on certain occasions when Blaine could sneak away from Quinn.

They’ve never really had _this_ much time together before and Kurt wants to make the most of it. After a quick shower, he walks into the oversized walk-in closet and almost faints at what he finds inside.

Every designer label in one confined area makes him almost feel like he’s at Neiman Marcus. On one side, there are rows of bow ties in a glass case and on the other an endless amount of men’s brooches and lapel pins. Naturally, his eyes shift in that direction, specifically at a crystal-skull pin.

When he scrolls through some of the jackets on that side, he realizes that they’re all in his size.

_Oh, Blaine._

It’s all free range from there. 

The moment he’s done dressing himself like a Ken doll, he looks at himself in the mirror and a ‘damn’ almost escapes his lips.

Whoever says the clothes don’t make the man was sadly mistaken.

That thought is confirmed when he goes into the kitchen and even Jackie does a double take.

“You look great, Mr. Hummel,” she tells him in a soft voice. “I was just told President Anderson is on his way and dinner is almost ready.” Kurt’s eyes move to the beautifully arranged table out on the patio. “I was told he wanted dinner set up outside.”

_Oh, did he now?_

Jackie continues. “Benedict should be out there to greet you. He’s the head butler here at Camp David.”

“Thank you. And whatever you’re making smells great, by the way.” Kurt winks at her, then makes his way outside.

Like she said, an older man dressed head to toe in black and white greets him at the door.

“Hello, Mr. Hummel. Would you like red or white wine, sir?” His Scottish accent takes Kurt by surprise.

“White wine, please.”

Sitting at the table, Kurt starts to get a little nervous as things become very real. He’s about to have a date night with Blaine Anderson, not the President of the United States.

Just Kurt and Blaine.

However, one half of that combination isn’t there even after Kurt gulps down three glasses of wine. Benedict and Jackie keep telling him Blaine’s on his way every five minutes when he asks. About half an hour after seven p.m, Kurt decides he’s not going to let the amazing meal Jackie cooked go to waste.

So he revels in the deliciousness of his filet mignon, morel mushrooms and asparagus while finishing an entire bottle of wine by himself. The more he sits there staring at the beautiful view of green grass and heavy trees, the more upset he gets.

He didn’t uproot his life to do _this_ , wait around for Blaine Anderson like he’s some kept housewife.

Then he thinks of Quinn and all those late nights that she probably spent alone while Blaine snuck into his bed in the middle of the night.

_Is this her life?_

Kurt won’t stand for it.

He’s better than this.

The wine bottle is half empty and Kurt knows if he finishes it, he’ll be drunk and he wants to be just a tad tipsy when Blaine comes back.

It’s always easier for Kurt to talk to Blaine with a little liquid courage.

When he walks into the cabin, he hears a familiar booming laugh as the door opens. 

_Perfect timing._

As Blaine talks briefly to Sam at the entryway, Kurt stands in the middle of the living room. Then he notices the romantic fireplace lighting up the room and it makes him even madder thinking about what could’ve been.

_Sex by the fireplace would’ve been fantastic._

Instead, Kurt’s lightly buzzing with alcohol and anger, and seeing Blaine so nonchalant and having a full-length conversation with Sam rather than rushing to his side with kisses and apologies just makes Kurt’s blood boil even more. 

Meanwhile, he’s standing there looking like an idiot.

When Blaine _finally_ acknowledges Kurt’s existence, they’re alone again. Kurt isn’t sure where Sam or Jackie have gone, but it doesn’t take him long to forget about that when Blaine rushes over to him to kiss him.

Kurt pushes him away instantly. “Where have you been?” He hisses and when Blaine gives him that _‘What did I do?’_ look, he puts his hand on his hip and rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that. I’ve been waiting here all fucking night.”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” He attempts to soothe him, but his eyes go wide when Kurt steps away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I just got tied up.”

“Yeah, you should’ve! Who do you think I am--?” _Quinn?_ He almost says, but doesn’t.

And with that, Kurt turns clumsily, walking out of the living room and into the bedroom with the intention of packing to go home. He’s sure Sam could arrange a ride for him back to D.C.

He picks up his suitcase and before he can even open it Blaine is pulling it out of his hands.

“Stop this. You’re acting ridiculous.”

As soon as the words are out of Blaine’s mouth, Kurt shoots him a look and he watches Blaine’s expression change to remorse, realizing that’s he’s done something wrong.

“Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t––” Blaine starts, but Kurt halts his attempt at an apology. 

“You know what’s ridiculous. Me dropping my life, once again, to spend time with you. Making you a priority in my life when I am the furthest thing from that in your world. Which, I know, your world is so much more important than mine. I’m just Kurt Hummel, the guy you have to whisk away to the middle of nowhere to _fuck!”_

Blaine closes his eyes, and Kurt sees a flurry of emotions flicker across his face, from fearful contemplation to disbelief, and finally settling on an open and sincere expression. After a beat, he reopens them, his pupils dilated.

“You know you are more than that to me,” Blaine whispers, solid and sure. “You are _everything_ to me. That’s why I brought you here. That’s why I needed _you_ here, Kurt. I want–” He moves closer, taking a seat on the bed. He gestures for Kurt to join him, but he stands his ground. “I wanted to talk about us getting back together.”

Kurt angrily laughs. “We’ve never been _together,_ Blaine.”

Blaine reaches his hand over to grab Kurt’s and he reluctantly concedes, sitting next to him on the bed. Kurt stays strong though, stiffening when Blaine wraps his arms around him. 

He plants a light kiss on his shoulder before saying, “You’ve always been the one. Always, ever since we met.”

Kurt closes his eyes, fighting the urge to give in.

_Be strong._

_Be strong._

“You never fight fair, Blaine,” Kurt says, unable to keep the longing out of his voice.

“It’s because I have to fight every single day at work. I have to fight for respect, control and power.” Blaine sighs. “I don’t want to fight in my bedroom, especially with you.” 

When Blaine growls and looks up at him through hooded eyes, all of the angst from the day nearly melts away. It’s so hard to stay mad at the man who makes his blood pound through his veins because he loves him so fucking much.

But he just _can’t_ ignore the facts.

“We’ve been through this, Blaine. There’s no way we can make this work now.”

“I know. That’s exactly what you said six months ago when you broke things off with me. You gave me a long list of bullshit reasons why we shouldn’t be together. But how about right here, right now, you use that incredible brain of yours and decide how we _can_ be together. Fix it, Kurt. How ‘bout that?”

Releasing Kurt, he sits up on the bed, legs folded underneath him Indian style. Kurt smiles a little, and mimics his actions. 

Blaine’s eyes flicker to his lips before he speaks once again. “Before we start, can I please kiss you first? You look fucking stunning in that outfit.”

Kurt snickers at Blaine’s ability to be the leader of the free world but still act like a teenage boy. 

“Thank you,” Kurt says before leaning over to kiss Blaine. Before the kiss deepens, Kurt cautiously pulls away. He knows this conversation has to happen. It should’ve happened last night, but they were both distracted, of course.

Now it’s time to mend fences.

He starts with a question that’s at the top of his ‘need to know’ list.

“If we want to be together, I need to know that there’s a future for us after all of this is over. After the White House, I mean. So, is there?”

Without hesitation, Blaine replies, “I’d file for divorce the moment you give me the go ahead, whether or not I’m in office.”

_That was unexpected._

“Wait, what? No. That’s career suicide, Blaine.” Kurt shuts that idea down completely. “Getting a divorce right now is out of the question.”

“Then I won’t run for re-election.”

Kurt almost reaches over to slap him. “I didn’t work so hard to get you elected, Blaine, for you to just give up so quickly. Absolutely not.”

Blaine smirks and it’s then Kurt knows what he’s doing. It’s always been their _thing_ when they were coming up with ideas on the campaign trail: Blaine throws out terrible ideas that he knows Kurt will turn down in order to help Kurt brainstorm the best idea.

_It works._

“First of all, not pissing off Quinn is the key here. If divorce is an option, you two need to be on the same page, citing irreconcilable differences. Unfortunately, we can’t do any of that until you’re out of office.”

“So we’ll have to wait three years?”

Hearing that time period out loud smacks Kurt in the chest. That’s a long fucking time.

_Could he do that?_

_Could they really wait that long?_

He gulps, then says, “Then, we wait.”

Blaine’s eyes dance with anticipation. “Great, because you are so, _so,_ worth waiting for.” He goes for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. When he pulls away, he pecks Kurt’s nose for good measure. “But things will be different this time.”

“How so?”

Blaine reaches for Kurt and pulls him onto his lap in the most uncomfortable but precious way.

“We can stop avoiding each other at work for one. Stop having that assistant of yours, Melissa or whatever coming into meetings and taking notes for you.”

“Her name is Marley,” Kurt interrupts. “She’s a sweet girl. Give her a break.”

“All the same, I want you around more often.” Blaine nuzzles into Kurt’s neck, planting a soft kiss before continuing. “We’re going to have you move apartments as well. If you live in a more secluded neighborhood, it’ll be easier for me to sneak away three times a week.”

“Three times a week?”

“Yep!” Blaine gives his neck another kiss, this one with a small bite. “Sam is discreet about everything. We can trust him. He already knows everything.”

The plan sounds concrete. It will be difficult, but they’ll manage. However, there is one obstacle that he can’t ignore.

“What about Quinn?” Kurt mumbles, feeling guilty about being in Blaine’s arms when he remembers the silver band on Blaine’s finger that symbolizes his union with her.

“She's been dealt with, Kurt.”

That’s all Blaine says and Kurt doubts that it’s that simple. Before he can ask any further questions though, Blaine assaults his neck completely, forming goosebumps all over his body.

“Unhh, Blaine,” he moans and soon enough, Blaine lays him down, murmuring apologies into his skin.

With that, Blaine seems to burrow into Kurt’s heart once more. 

**

An unfamiliar wheezing sound coaxes Kurt from his deep sleep. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes and slowly surveys his current surroundings.

_He stayed._

Kurt’s eyes well up a bit at the beautiful sight of Blaine Devon Anderson, drool hanging out of the corner of his open mouth, along with the most unattractive and decidedly unpresidential snore.

He’s precious.

Temptation builds within Kurt to spend the next few minutes just staring at the man, who for some crazy unknown reason has decided to love _him._

Sadly, his bathroom needs deem more important at this very moment so he sneaks out of bed, trying not to wake Blaine. 

Kurt stretches and his back pops, giving away signs of old age and the fact that he can’t bounce back as easily after strenuous activities like last night. 

Neither of them seemed to care then, however, when Kurt had his legs hooked over Blaine’s shoulders as Blaine pounded into him.

The evidence of that experience can be seen on his neck, where red marks scatter his pale skin. Given that it’s a Saturday morning and they’re as far away from responsibility as they physically can be, Kurt takes them in with pride. Blaine did that to _him._

Kurt wanders back to the bedroom where Blaine is no longer snoring but still sound asleep, looking as peaceful as ever and not like he has a nation to run. Thankfully, the country is doing okay without him this weekend. Kurt heard Blaine on the phone in the wee hours of the morning, getting notice that Israel's top leaders were on their way to to their home country, which means Blaine is finally all his.

He plans to take full advantage of it, too. So he curls back into bed and nuzzles into Blaine’s chest. With perfect timing, Kurt feels warm arms curl around him. He feels a light kiss on his head and Kurt has never felt more at home.

**

About an hour and a half later, Kurt finally pulls Blaine out of bed to have some breakfast. It isn’t long after that Blaine has Jackie in a fit of girlish giggles. 

President Anderson is a charmer, that’s for sure.

After that, they put on real clothes and Blaine gives Kurt a tour of the land, where they get lost in the acres and acres of mountainous landscape. The fresh air is a complete contrast from the hustle and bustle of the District. It rejuvenates something within Kurt that has him feeling frisky.

Once Sam is a safe distance away, he pushes Blaine up against a tree and rains kisses from the nape of his neck down to the edge of his shoulder. 

“ _Kurrrrrrt.”_ Blaine’s arms encircle Kurt’s waist, pulling him against him so Kurt can suck at the crook of his neck harder.

“Yes?” Kurt nips at his earlobe. “Do you want me to stop? Sam and--”

“My people have been informed, on a need-to-know basis, of course,” Blaine murmurs breathlessly and then pleads in his ear, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” 

Then Blaine makes a deep, grateful humming noise in his throat as Kurt returns to mapping Blaine’s skin with his mouth.

Kurt twists his fingers in Blaine’s hair, triumphing over the power that Blaine lets him have when they’re together like this. It’s sexy, and Blaine is more than sexy. Moving from his neck to his lips, Kurt strokes Blaine’s hair, glad that he convinced him to go without so much gel today. He traces his fingers across his lips to his jaw, then down his Adam’s apple, admiring his handiwork.

“You are such a fucking tease,” Blaine says with a groan before thrusting his hips into Kurt’s growing erection, very visible in his jeans. “You’re lucky I don’t yank those pants off and take you right here, right now.”

“I dare you,” Kurt purrs, taking ahold of Blaine’s bottom lip. Kurt feels Blaine clutch his belt, a rush of heat hitting him in all the right places, but then an exaggerated cough stops them both.

Kurt and Blaine quickly straighten up in front of Sam, trying miserably to act casual.

“Yes, Sam?” Blaine asks, his tone of voice deeper in a more professional manner.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we need to get you back to the house.” Sam removes his sunglasses and leans forward. “Wes Montgomery is on the line. It’s an emergency, Mr. President.”

_Oh, no._

Blaine turns to Kurt with apologetic eyes and Kurt nods. “Duty calls, President Anderson.”

“Stop it,” Blaine says after rolling his eyes. He leans forward to capture another kiss and then intertwines their fingers. “C’mon, before Wes has a heart attack.”

On the walk back to the house, Kurt starts to think about exactly how much Sam knows about his relationship with Blaine. Sam is trustworthy, according to Blaine, but Kurt doesn’t really know anything about him.

When Blaine gets to the phone inside of the lodge, Kurt can _feel_ the panic in Wes’ voice even though he can’t physically hear him. Panic clouds Blaine’s face too, then it’s quickly replaced by a sly smile.

“Well, Wes, I’m sure if Kurt wanted to answer your phone calls, he would,” Blaine replies, winking at Kurt. “I have no clue where he is, but I’m sure he’s in good hands.”

Kurt almost yelps in laughter. This is the fun part of being together that Kurt misses. Sneaking away isn’t all heartbreak and tears. 

“Wes, calm down. We both know Kurt is a big boy. He can fend for him–Okay, fine. If I hear from him, I’ll be sure to call you. Goodbye, Wes.” Blaine hangs up and turns toward Kurt. “You turned off your cell phone? I’m impressed, and surprised you’ve lasted more than twenty-four hours without checking your email.”

Kurt ignores the fact that he has his iPad hidden in his suitcase and that he answered a message to Santana while Blaine was asleep last night.

_Sometimes keeping up a facade is a good thing._

**

With Kurt’s feet propped up on Blaine’s lap, he is unable to fathom how he ended up with the U.S. President giving him a foot rub; it’s so heartwarmingly domestic.

They’ve been like this all weekend really, just enjoying each other’s company. No stress, no politics, just Kurt and Blaine.

Unfortunately, they eventually have to return to reality after their beautiful, surreal mountain getaway. He’s counting down the minutes until Sam will inevitably appear and tell them that Air Force One is ready for departure. 

“Can’t we just stay here for another month or so?”

Blaine laughs, moving from massaging his left foot to his right. “I wish. What we _could_ do is move to a small English town. You could open your own clothing store, selling high fashion to the townies. I could finally sing again at lounges and pubs.”

The idea sends Kurt’s brain buzzing, thinking maybe that could be their life when they finally put the White House behind them.

“Speaking of moving, this whole apartment thing. I don’t know how I feel about that,” Kurt admits. 

He still isn’t sure what to make of Blaine’s proposal. 

_Could he do this again?_

Blaine pauses from attending to Kurt’s feet, and then stares at him with a wounded expression.

“You don’t want me?” Blaine flutters his eyelashes. “These last few days, I–I thought this was working again.”

Kurt pulls his feet to his chest in retreat. “Of course I want you.” Kurt tries to drum up a reply that isn’t _‘I’m also forty-two years old and moving into a new place at this age will be annoying as fuck.’_

Instead he says, “I just don’t know if I can handle all the sneaking around all the time. It takes a toll on you, Blaine.”

 _It takes a toll on me as well,_ Kurt thinks.

“But we can do it.” Blaine crowds Kurt, moving closer to him on the couch. “I’m not a planner or a fixer like you, but I think my plan will work. I can get you any apartment you want. It just needs to be in a secure area where I can get away without being detected.”

“And Quinn–”

“Don’t,” Blaine cuts him off. “Don’t bring her up right now.”

“How can I not? She’s your wife, Blaine.” Kurt raises his voice. “You know her better than I do. You think she’s not going to get suspicious?”

Burying his head in his hands, Blaine’s entire body language shifts as Kurt sees him break down. “Kurt, Quinn and I–we haven’t been together in a very, very long time so we won’t have to worry about her being suspicious.”

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

Kurt mumbles, “I don’t understand.”

“You are the only person I’ve been with in years,” Blaine says into his hands and then he perks up, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

The string of awkward encounters following one night stands pops into Kurt’s head and he hopes his expression doesn’t betray him.

He obviously fails by the somber look on Blaine’s face.

“How many?” That’s all Blaine asks, not even looking him in the eye.

_“Blaine.”_

Blaine suddenly stands up and shouts, “How many?”

He could always lie. Kurt’s ability to lie on cue has improved fiercely over the years, but this isn’t one of those times where we can convince himself that lying is better than telling the truth.

“A few, but they didn’t mean anything,” Kurt confesses, his heartbeat pumping at an off the charts rate.

“Peter?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Ugh, no, not Peter. Just random guys, Blaine.”

Blaine finally gazes up at him with bright sincere hazel eyes. “You’re better than that, Kurt. You are–you are so fucking special. I–”

Tears prick the back of Kurt’s eyes when Blaine trails off. He knows what Blaine wants to say, but doesn’t. 

_Love._

That four letter word has floated around the two of them for over a year now without being said. Kurt loves Blaine, and he knows Blaine feels the same way about him. However, saying that verb out loud makes everything real, maybe a little _too_ real.

They can sit and talk about life after the White House, when they finally can live the life they’ve both always dreamed about in England. It’s a fragile dream, and saying those fateful words will give them something tangible and even more breakable to hold onto. Kurt doesn’t think he can handle the gravity of it all just yet.

So, like so many times before, Kurt says, “I know.”

“You mean something very special to me,” Blaine says, his eyes shining with affection.

“I know.”

He also knows that it’s that time again to make a choice: is he in or is he out?

The last time Kurt made this kind of decision it was back on the campaign trail when his client Congressman Anderson made a different kind of proposition that Kurt accepted without hesitation. 

_Did he make the right choice?_

That’s the annoying question that’s Kurt’s been debating ever since. It isn’t until now that he finally has an answer.

“I want an apartment where I don’t have to drive through Dupont Circle. It’s hell.”

“And confusing I hear,” Blaine starts. “The place will also have a terrace and a study. I have a location already in mind. You can do all of the interior design if you want. ”

_That’s a way to seal the deal._

Fluttering his eyelashes, Blaine is glowing with a love and adoration that takes Kurt’s breath away.

“C’mere,” Kurt instructs. Blaine does as he’s told, crawling back onto the couch and onto Kurt’s lap. He plants a featherlight kiss on his forehead first, then dips lower to kiss the corner of his mouth tenderly.

“Don’t entertain any overnight visitors at this new apartment,” Blaine mumbles between kisses.

“Only you,” Kurt promises, shuddering inwardly as Blaine lays chaste kisses on his lips.

And like that, Kurt Hummel dives headfirst back behind enemy lines where he and Blaine are fighting against all odds.

Let the political warfare begin, where they can face their foes together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is loosely based on the television show _Scandal._ If you haven't seen the show, it will not hinder the reading experience of this fic.
> 
> [Britt](http://dontfretbaby.tumblr.com) and [Stacey](http://somethingdarrenish.tumblr.com) would like to give a massive thank you to our betas for tackling this complex fic: [Alyssa](http://roblaine.tumblr.com/), [Mags](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/), [Ellie](http://broadwaydarren.tumblr.com) & [Christine](http://christinejaneanderson.tumblr.com/).

Three weeks later, Kurt is still dreaming about Camp David.

He no longer has the luxury of sleeping in until noon and lounging around on the couch next to the man of his dreams.

Instead, it’s back to politics and power trips.

Peace talks with Israel went better than expected, which means Kurt’s job has been all positive press, a rare bliss. However, there’s always something new to tackle.

Next on the Anderson Administration’s to-do list: tonight’s State Dinner.

Or what Kurt likes to call, prom for Washington, D.C’s elite.

Politicians from far and wide come to the White House decked out in their finest attire to push their own agendas over a five-course meal on the most expensive china in the world. President Anderson will be charming members of the House and Senate alike in order to sway their votes for the marriage equality bill, while also keeping Israeli leaders and their wives entertained.

It’s pretty much a PR affair that gives Kurt a reason to bust out his new suit from the Versace collection.

Before he can start coordinating which bow tie to wear with his suit, however, he has other business to deal with, which includes a meeting with Sebastian Smythe.

Oh, how he _loves_ dealing with the Vice President, and by loves, he means dreads.

It’s a necessary evil that he has to take care of, though, before it’s too difficult to handle.

“He’ll be available soon if you’d like to wait, Mr. Hummel,” Kitty, Sebastian's assistant, snidely informs him.

“How soon?”

She shrugs. 

Kurt turns on his heel, adopting a sharp but still polite tone. “Well, can you tell him to get back to me when you know how to do your job? You should know where he is every second of the day, Ms. Wilde.”

“Some meetings run long, _sir._ I don’t like what you’re implying. I’m very good at my job,” she tells him before he can make it to the doorway.

He’s about to fire back with, “I’m sure you are, even if your immediate boss is a major asshole.”

Instead he says, “I suppose so. Let him know I’m looking for him, please.”

“Will do, ASAP, Mr. Hummel,” she says, examining her nails.

Kurt rolls his eyes and almost leaves, but the door to Sebastian’s office flies open then, and a young man who Kurt vaguely remembers as a Congressman’s intern rushes past him, his face flushed and his shirt rumpled.

Kurt narrows his eyes but doesn’t ask.

“Oh, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Sebastian smirks, buttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“Do you have a few minutes, Mr. Vice President?”

“Sure, Kurt,” he replies pleasantly. “Come in.”

When Kurt walks by him, he notices Sebastian's fly open and then quickly averts his eyes.

“God, Sebastian, your zipper.” He winces and lets him know once Sebastian shuts the door.

Sebastian zips up and says, “How nice of you. I must’ve forgotten the last time I relieved myself.”

Kurt almost rolls his eyes at the terrible lie and tries to push out the graphic images that immediately come barreling into his head; he makes a mental note to find out that intern’s name.

“Right. Anyway, I want to know how the Senate is voting on the marriage bill. Have you been to any sessions this week?”

He sits back in his chair, kicking his feet up on his desk. “I’ve heard the bill’s not deadlocked, so I haven’t had any reason to show up, but word is it should be passed.”

“Great. That’s good to hear. Thank you for actually being informative for once.”

“You’re welcome, Kurt.” Sebastian pastes on a smile. “Glad there’s something we actually both support.”

“Depends on how you define support, given what I saw a few minutes ago.” Kurt chuckles wryly.

“What you _assume_ you saw,” Sebastian is quick to finish.

“What I assume is most likely right and despite that, I’m all for every loving and committed couple having the federal right to marry.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. I mean, I heard you were engaged once upon a time. How did that go, by the way?”

Kurt’s ready to snap at him, but then his phone rings. He looks down and sees that it’s Peter, oddly enough, whose calls he’s been avoiding for the past few weeks, ever since he rekindled his relationship with Blaine.

“You’re lucky I have to take this. Have a good day, Mr. Vice President.” 

“You too, Kurt,” he hears Sebastian return way too nicely right before he picks up his cell and heads out the door and down the hallway toward his own office.

_“Glad I could finally get a hold of you, Kurt. What have you been up to that made you cancel our date so suddenly?”_

Kurt’s mind retreats to Blaine’s hands all over him, Blaine’s smile when they woke up together, and their brief, wild makeout session in the woods of Camp David. Then he remembers Peter is on the other end of the line and he scrambles for an explanation.

“Oh, y’know, with my job, I have to be prepared to work at a moment’s notice. I’ve been extremely busy since then. The White House doesn’t really sleep, Pete.”

_“The news doesn’t either, but we all need a break. We all need to eat, which is why I’m taking you up on that raincheck. Is next Friday okay?”_

He can’t tell Peter that he might be busy with someone else; he doesn’t want to hurt him, but he doesn’t want to lead him on either, so he settles on a noncommittal response.

“I’ll have to check on that but I think I’m busy. What have you been up to, besides reporting the biggest stories in our great nation?”

 _“Not much.”_ There’s a deep breath, and then, _“Honestly, missing you.”_

“Pete.” His stomach flips guiltily. “We’re not--You can’t just say things like that.”

_“I can if they’re true. C’mon, give me something here.”_

Kurt turns the corner and stops, watching as Marley stands a few feet away from her desk, smiling down at her phone and then looking around before walking back toward Kurt’s office.

His heart jolts with longing, even if he kind of has Blaine back again.

He wishes Blaine could text him cute messages or overtly express his affection in some way so that everyone would know who Blaine Anderson is and how he _really_ loves, not the image that Kurt carefully crafted of him.

Blaine owes absolutely everything to Kurt and the world should know it.

Kurt should be allowed to take credit and stand beside him as a partner, not only professionally but romantically and emotionally.

But he can’t and he never will because it would destroy them both.

He thinks of Blaine’s public persona then, showing up with Quinn on his arm at every single personal appearance he makes while Kurt stands in the shadows, alone.

A pang of jealousy hits him, imagining how they’ll act tonight at the State’s Dinner. Quinn will fake a few smiles and love-filled gazes at Blaine, and Blaine will do the same.

He knows whose bed Blaine will eventually fall into under the cover of darkness though and it almost gives him solace, but not enough.

He wants a taste of the light, just for a little while.

“Not sure if you heard, but there’s a State Dinner tonight,” Kurt mentions casually. “I have the option for a plus one.”

_“Schmoozing with Washington’s elite? This is a reporter’s wet dream, Kurt.”_

Kurt blushes, despite what he’s done, both with Peter and others. “You sure know how to score with me, don’t you?” Kurt teases.

_“I believe I should be saying that to you right now. This would be making up to me big time.”_

“So is that a yes?”

_“You bet your ass it is. What should I wear?”_

“Something nice. I know you own a few amazing tuxes.”

_“Of course. I'll make sure we don’t clash.”_

“I would expect nothing less. I’ll pick you up at your place around six thirty p.m?”

_“Great. I, uh, I gotta go. I’ve got a meeting. Kurt?”_

“Yeah?”

 _“Thank you so much. I can’t wait,”_ he replies excitedly.

“Alright. See you tonight,” Kurt answers, dread filling him as he hangs up and thinks of how he’s going to tell Blaine.

He has to do it now, before he loses his nerve. 

He changes direction, pausing at Rachel's desk to ask, “Is he available right now?”

She looks up from typing to smile brightly. “Hey, Kurt. Yeah, he’s by himself. He just finished up a meeting with Wes. Should I tell him you’re on your way in?”

“I kind of want to surprise him if that’s alright.”

He knows it’s not proper protocol, but Rachel is his friend, and Blaine is, well, he’s Blaine, and Kurt knows how he might take his news. Kurt wants to soften the blow however he can.

“By all means, but only because I trust you,” Rachel finally allows.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

Then he gently opens the door to the Oval to find Blaine leaning against the front of his desk, looking down at a piece of paper, Scotch notably absent from his hand.

His lips are pursed in thought and a few curls at his temples stray from their gel hold. 

Kurt aches to tug the rest out of place and maybe grab Blaine’s hips and plant a kiss square on his mouth.

But now is not the time for that. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” Kurt says instead.

Blaine glances up and puts the sheet of paper on his desk, and then he beams at Kurt. “Hey you.”

His heart flutters uncontrollably. “I--I need to speak with you.”

“Well, of course you do, because you’re here.” Blaine smirks, striding toward him. “You didn’t send Marley so is this a professional visit or,” he pauses, squeezing Kurt’s waist. “Is it more personal, perhaps?”

“The latter,” he breathes out.

“Good to know. Can you discuss it like this? Maybe while I revisit some of my favorite areas?” Blaine murmurs, nuzzling at his collar.

“W-wait. We really do need to talk, Blaine.”

Blaine looks up, eyebrows drawn together in worry. “Are you having second thoughts about the apartment? About us?”

“Not exactly. No.”

“That’s not very comforting, Kurt.”

“I’m not backing out of our arrangement, Blaine. I--”

“That’s good, because you know the State Dinner is tonight,” he remarks, one of his thumbs stroking Kurt’s side. “I can’t wait to see you all dressed up and gorgeous, and then maybe after I can, um, _undress_ you, if you’d like?”

Blaine’s fingers creep dangerously close to Kurt’s waistband, distracting him from what he should be saying.

_Focus, Hummel._

“Blaine, I-I--” he takes a harsh breath, but Blaine interrupts him again.

“Why? Got a hot date?” Blaine questions playfully.

Kurt stills, Blaine’s lips about to touch his own.

“You do, don’t you?” Blaine wonders.

“Blaine, you’re bringing your wife. It’s smart for me to not show up alone to this thing. It’s all about keeping up appearances, right?”

“Who do you plan on bringing, Kurt?”

“That’s what I came to tell you.”

“Who are you bringing?” Blaine repeats, jaw clenching as he pulls away.

Kurt blanches. “I asked Peter and he said yes. I owe him, Blaine.”

“I bet you do.”

“It’s not like I’ll let anything happen,” he assures Blaine, grasping one of his hands.

“I’ll bet you won’t.”

“Calm down.” He pulls Blaine back to him. “Hey, look at me.”

Blaine does, his hazel eyes still burning with anger. 

“In a perfect world, you know exactly who I would bring,” Kurt explains softly, staring straight at him. “But we don’t live in a perfect world, Blaine, and I’d like to have a cover just in case--”

Blaine’s expression melts into concern as he cups Kurt’s cheek with his free hand. “No one will ever find out about us. We’ve covered all our bases. Remember?”

“Still, it’s good to have a backup plan on this. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do, with everything I have,” Blaine admits sincerely. “It’s him that I don’t trust. He’s a reporter, Kurt, and you have a history with him, a messy one at that.”

“Relax. It’s handled.”

Blaine grins charmingly. “It’s so hot when you say things like that, commanding as fuck. Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Even if you flirt with him and have a few drinks, please don’t dance with him, and please don’t let me see it.”

“I--” Kurt starts, ready to tell him how unreasonable that is, but then a buzzer sounds, signaling a visitor. “We’ll see,” he finishes before jumping away from him.

“Okay. Can I give you something else to think about?” Blaine smiles, trying to draw him back in.

Kurt almost takes the bait, except the First Lady bursts in then, holding two amazing gowns, causing Kurt to jump back like a frightened animal.

He can’t get caught with Blaine like this, not after everything that’s happened, not after--

“Oh, hello, Blaine, _Kurt,”_ Quinn greets them cheerfully but with a sharp edge when she says Kurt’s name. Then she looks between both of them. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Kurt swallows nervously, glad Quinn is focusing her attention on Blaine. They have never been _that_ close to being caught before. Kurt makes a mental note to be more careful in the future.

“Not at all, Quinn. I’m only running a country,” Blaine snaps, smoothing his clothes and nervously taking a few steps away from Kurt. “What’s so important that you can’t knock?”

“Well, you’ve been so busy lately, we haven’t finalized our outfits for tonight. There’s this ice blue number.” She lifts up her left arm, a long, flowing dress with a bust encrusted in crystals, reminiscent of a prom dress. “And this one.” On her other arm is a mint green dress that looks to be made of silk charmeuse. “But I’m thinking of a third option that’s red. It’ll scream bold and all-American, y’know?”

“Whatever you choose is fine. Let my stylist know and she will plan accordingly,” Blaine replies, and when he fiddles with his bow tie, Kurt notices a slight tremor in his hands.

“We have to look like the perfect couple, Blaine. Show them how handsome you are and why they voted for you. We’re a package deal at this point, _honey,”_ she adds, glaring at Kurt.

“As you remind me every chance you get.” Blaine forces a smile directed at his wife. “Will that be all, Quinn?”

“Is there a more pressing matter that you can’t spend two minutes discussing something with your wife?”

Blaine rolls his eyes and sighs. “Well, yes, Quinn. There’s homegrown terrorists, gun control, health care, equal rights for everyone, whether or not I should veto Congress giving themselves yet another pay raise, global warming. Should I go on?”

Kurt flinches at the piqued look on Quinn’s face due to Blaine just going for the jugular there. The way Blaine reacts to her is never something he agrees with. He knows that their relationship is far from perfect, but in a town like D.C., Quinn is far from their biggest enemy despite her bitchy exterior.

“You didn’t actually ask me, Quinn,” Kurt chimes in, taking another step away from Blaine. “But if you did, I would say the light green. Very goddess-esque. It brings out your eyes, too.”

With perfect timing, Quinn lets the hurt abruptly disappear from her face. “Why, thank you, Kurt. At least someone in this room pretends to value me.” Her eyes flit over to Blaine, who simply crosses his arms. “Go on a run with Sam before the dinner tonight. You know how the camera always adds about ten pounds.”

The discomfort in Blaine’s demeanor hardens as Quinn sashays out of the main White House door and sparks up a conversation with Rachel.

Blaine rushes over to the phone, pressing a button. 

Sam rushes into the office. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Sam, we’ve talked about this over and over again. When someone is approaching the East Wing room, _please_ use the red button and that includes the First Lady. It’s really important that you remember this. Understood?” 

Blaine sends him a knowing look.

“Yes, sir,” Sam mumbles defeatedly.

Once they’re alone again, Kurt hastily returns to Blaine’s side to ease his ego that Quinn quickly tore down with one comment.

“You will look dashing tonight, Mr. President. You always do.”

“Even with that insufferable witch next to me?”

“Yes, because you will have the most amazing view of one Kurt Hummel, who knows exactly how to pull off a great black tie outfit.”

Blaine’s smitten grin lights up his face. “I love that about you, but you wear so many layers that getting you _out_ of your clothes is always a tall order.”

Kurt smoothes Blaine’s lapels down and leans his whole body against Blaine’s own. “I’m sure you’ll be up for the challenge, sir.”

Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand and pulls him to his chest. He leans up for a kiss and Kurt moves away.

“Blaine, your wife just barged in on us. We have to be more careful.”

“Did you not hear me just talk to Sam?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Even so, you need to be nicer to Quinn. She’s going to get suspicious.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Blaine blinks at him, eyelashes fluttering as he steps back. “Kurt, I’m going to miss you tonight.”

Kurt knows he’ll be there, but he understands the longing in Blaine’s sentiment. “I’ll miss you too.”

He sighs. “We’ll have our own celebration afterward though.”

“Sounds perfect. I can hardly wait.”

“Don’t be too late,” Kurt says.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kurt thinks ahead to Blaine showing up at his door, with a rumpled bow tie and a sexy smile.

He can’t wait either.

**

But first, there’s an opportunity for fashion.

He can’t help checking himself out in his beautiful antique full-length mirror once he’s all dressed up for the evening. He chose a three-piece black suit with a bit of shimmer woven through the material and a crisp, classic white button-down shirt underneath it.

Everything fits perfectly, as does his new apartment, which is mostly a modern design, save for a few vintage touches like the mirror; he’s sure Blaine would love it if he ever noticed it on the way to the bedroom.

Maybe he’ll make Blaine notice and they can put the mirror to good use tonight.

He shivers, thinking of the possibilities. 

For now, however, he’ll have to shift focus to his companion for the event, Peter.

Pulling up to his place at six thirty sharp, Pete’s already waiting outside and his jaw is nearly on the floor at the ride Kurt’s in.

Courtesy of Wes, they will be rolling up to the White House in a black tinted SUV with a driver and all. 

_Kurt, you have to show up in style,_ Wes said.

The driver, who introduced himself earlier as Tobin, rushes out of the car to open the door for Peter, who’s wearing a plain but still stunning black tuxedo with a white shirt and black bow tie.

Kurt sighs.

_Of course he would pick a bow tie._

“You look great,” Kurt honestly tells him.

Pete smirks. “Good enough to eat?” 

“This isn’t a date, Peter.” Kurt turns to Tobin. “We’re ready.”

“What is it then, Kurt?”

“Two people catching up over a fancy dinner, one of whom owes the other a favor for canceling on him a few weeks ago.”

“You consider a fancy dinner a favor?”

“Given your profession, yes. It’s a pretty huge favor at that.”

Kurt glances over at Peter, who’s frowning.

“I thought that maybe we could be heading toward something again, Kurt.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. “After some coffee and one dinner?”

“Would that be so unreasonable? You know how much I enjoy your company.”

Kurt swallows. “You can do that, as a friend.”

“You really think we can just be friends?” Pete laughs.

He isn’t sure how to explain that friends or nothing are the only two options, since his heart and his bed are currently occupied by a very powerful someone who isn’t exactly out of the closet.

When the car pulls up to the White House security gate, Kurt takes a deep breath, avoiding the question. “Oh, look, we're here.”

“ _Kurt,”_ he says sharply.

When Tobin walks out of the car to open Peter’s door first, Kurt says, “Look, can we just enjoy tonight for what it is?”

Peter lays a hand on his knee and it guiltily reminds him of those seemingly innocent moments two years ago when Blaine would do the same, before Kurt fully realized what they meant.

“That’s up to you, Kurt.”

Kurt pries Peter’s hand off of him. “Shall we?”

“It’s now or never.” Pete smiles.

**

The State Dining Room is part of the White House but it’s far from all business, like the areas Kurt and his staff normally occupy.

There’s a red carpet walkway at the entrance lined with velvet ropes and flashing cameras, where President Anderson and First Lady Quinn, and other world leaders, formally greet all the guests.

Kurt first registers Quinn in a bold crimson strapless dress, her blonde bob accented with a red ribbon headband. She looks picture perfect as usual, but Kurt almost laughs at the fact that she’s not wearing the dress Kurt suggested.

Typical Quinn.

The two of them had these type of battles weekly on the campaign trail. Blaine stands next to her, all smiles as he shakes hands with a Democratic congressman from Tennessee.

Blaine is the picture of American royalty, in a black suit with a dark red satin bow tie, and his hair gelled back, much like the night of his inauguration.

He takes Kurt’s breath away.

Before he can think any further, Peter elbows his side. “President Anderson cleans up good, doesn’t he?”

Kurt clears his throat. “Yeah, sure. I guess so.”

“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic. We’re about to get up close and personal with the man, though I’m sure you’re no stranger to him.”

Alarm flashes across Kurt’s face. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, you see him every day so maybe this isn’t as exciting for you as it for me.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Kurt relaxes. “He is my boss, who you are about to be less than a foot away from, so be on your best behavior.”

“Who, me?” Peter chuckles. “Always.”

Kurt shoots him a look and then they’re greeting the First Couple.

“Quinn, how lovely to see you again. You look beautiful.” Kurt grins politely. 

Quinn grins back. “Thank you. You look quite dapper yourself, Kurt. I see you brought a guest. Peter, yes?”

“Peter Costello of CNN, Mrs. Fabray-Anderson,” Pete offers, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’m here solely as Kurt’s guest and not in a professional capacity this evening.”

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Costello.” She laughs and Kurt can tell it’s fake. “Anyway, nice to meet you personally.”

“You too, Ma’am.”

She drops his hand and Kurt can see Blaine rolling his eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Kurt finally says, standing before him.

“Kurt,” he breathes, eyes alight and mouth open before he quickly schools his expression into something more professional. “You look dapper tonight.”

“You too, sir.” Kurt shakes his hand and gestures to Peter. “You remember Pete?”

Kurt almost winces at the slip of the nickname and Blaine’s face hardens but he reaches Peter’s hand out anyway.

“ _Peter,_ yes, I remember. How could I forget after our last encounter?”

Peter shakes Blaine’s hand vigorously. “I’m just trying to do my job, sir. It’s a honor to be here.”

“And I’m trying to do mine. Cut me a little slack next time?” Blaine’s smile looks tight and forced as he still shakes Peter’s hand.

“The American people have a right to know all the facts,” Peter explains, “and I feel compelled to get them. It’s nothing personal.”

Blaine lets go of Peter’s hand, his eyes flickering to Kurt. “I’m sure it isn’t. Well, I hope you two enjoy yourselves tonight, but not too much.”

“Honestly, I plan on indulging as much as I can since Kurt here got her a driver for our date tonight,” Pete is quick to answer first.

_Date?_

_Oh, no._

“A driver?” Blaine eyes perk up at Kurt. “How _nice._ Anyway, you seem to be holding up the line. I have some more guests to greet. See you later, gentlemen?”

“I hope so. The pleasure would be all mine, Mr. President. Thank you,” Peter replies eagerly.

Blaine glares at Kurt before he and Peter quickly greet the Israeli Prime Minister and his wife.

Then Kurt and Peter head out into the crowd.

“That was your best behavior, Peter?” Kurt questions.

Peter links arms with him. “Sorry. Can’t turn off my journalistic attitude. At least I didn’t interrogate him on national security or anything.”

“I’m sure if you had more time, you would have.”

“You know me too well.” Pete flashes him a shy smile and Kurt’s heart hurts for his former love, who still seems to think he has a fighting chance.

Tonight is going to be rough.

“C’mon, let’s go eat.”

After they sit down to the first course, Kurt immediately downs one glass of champagne and then asks the waiter for another. He’s feeling a good buzz by the third course, until he catches sight of Blaine and Quinn laughing about something with the Israeli head of state and his spouse. 

Jealousy burns hot through him when Quinn squeezes Blaine’s shoulder and gazes at him smittenly.

It looks so real that Kurt thinks Blaine and Quinn might actually be having a good time.

Sure, Quinn is playing a role but Blaine responds to her perfectly, flashing a bright white smile, even if Kurt can tell it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You okay, Kurt?” Pete asks suddenly, his voice filled with concern.

“Yeah, I need more champagne. Do you wanna dance after dessert?”

“I would love that.”

Kurt has a few more drinks, enough for some of his unpleasant feelings to dissolve into a bubbly haze, and he watches Peter, in his modern glasses and elegant suit, finishing his meal with perfect manners.

Peter would be a wonderful ally, cozying up to all the lobbyists and politicians at fancy gatherings like this; he would probably get as much good information as Kurt, maybe more. Not to mention he’s quite handsome, and he wants Kurt. It would be so easy, so he lets Peter lead for a couple dances once the band starts playing.

However, it’s impossible to forget who's hosting the dinner and why Kurt is even here in the first place.. He internally curses himself for having too much wine and getting lost in Pete’s familiar arms, because that’s when he remembers Blaine’s request about not dancing with him.

 _Screw it,_ Kurt thinks. 

If Blaine can dance with anyone he wants, Kurt will too; he’ll have fun with his date.

It’s not like he’s taking Pete home, except Blaine seems to think he is because as soon as the song changes, Blaine breaks from his dance partner and stalks toward Kurt.

Pete’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh, Mr. President, how nice to see you. Hope you don’t wanna cut in on my date here.”

Kurt’s skin prickles at the close quarters between Blaine and Peter. 

It’s beyond uncomfortable.

Peter’s clearly joking, but Blaine’s steely gaze shoots daggers at Peter before he turns toward Kurt. “I need to speak to you. It’s an emergency.”

Blaine’s voice is rushed and serious, but in a way that Kurt’s not sure if this is personal or professional.

“In that case, I’ll go grab my tape recorder!” Pete laughs.

He’s not serious, of course. Pete’s not _that_ stupid. It’s obvious he’s trying to lighten the mood. Kurt even smirks at him a little, but Blaine isn’t having it.

His stone cold expression makes Pete rush out, “Joking, of course. Totally joking. I’ll step aside.” 

He’s so awkwardly charming and sweet that Kurt almost regrets taking up with Blaine again, especially right now.

Kurt pushes those feelings down, though, in favor of dealing with the drama in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Pete. I’ll have to take care of this,” Kurt assures him. “Things happen even during formal events.”

Peter barely has time to give a quick “See you soon” before Kurt is lead by Secret Service through the busy kitchen and into a side room. 

Blaine gestures for the agents to leave them be and before Kurt has a chance to speak, Blaine blurts out, “You’re damn right things happen.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt nearly yells. _He’s mad at him? Why?_ “If this is about Peter, I have a right to appreciate my company. You’re in no position to dictate what I do. I already told you--”

“I know what you told me, Kurt, but you two looked awfully cozy out there. Are you positive that you’re not sending him mixed signals?”

“I’ve made it very clear to you and to him exactly what I want. Don’t be ridiculous, Blaine.”

“Ridiculous,” Blaine whispers angrily. “This whole situation is ridiculous. If he can’t contain himself--”

“Doesn’t look like he’s the one who needs containing. We have to be careful, Blaine. Remember?”

Blaine gulps, reaching up to run his hand through his hair, but he stops short, going for his bow tie instead. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I--I just got you back and I--I can’t lose you again, Kurt.”

Kurt places a hand over Blaine’s own, helping him adjust his tie. “You aren’t gonna lose me, I promise.”

Blaine’s eyes shine with a feeling that Kurt is afraid to name, even if he already knows what it is.

Kurt thinks his own eyes might be reflecting it back, so he pulls away.

There’s a knock on the door, and like clockwork, Blaine and Kurt distance themselves from each other and Blaine shouts, “Yes?”

The door opens and Quinn struts in, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Well, well, well. What have we got here? My husband ducking out on his own dinner?” 

Blaine clears his throat. “The dinner’s over, Quinn, and if I have business to attend to, I can duck out for a bit. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Entertaining is part of your job description.”

“Tonight, it’s yours too, Blaine,” Quinn tells him sharply. “Whatever crisis your precious communications director has can wait until tomorrow.”

Blaine shoots back at her. “How do you know, Quinn? If there’s any damage control that needs to be done, I would like for him to take care of it sooner rather than later.”

“I’m sure you would,” Quinn accuses, turning her gaze on Kurt.

“I, um--Maybe I should go. Let you two have a minute?” Kurt finally speaks up, panic flooding him.

“No, _Kurt,”_ Quinn goes on. “I think you would be much more interested in what I have to say than he would.”

Blaine looks at her in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means that he’s one of the few men that actually listens to me, Blaine, or at least that’s what I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” Blaine asks her.

Another knock on the door makes all three of them jump in surprise.

“Yes?” Quinn and Blaine all say in union.

Sam pops in. “Mr. President, Vice President Smythe is requesting your presence in the dining room.”

_What the hell could he want?_

“You should handle that, Mr. President,” Kurt says, very clipped and formal.

Kurt’s response brings a frown to Blaine’s face and Kurt knows it’s because he’s acting distant. He has to be though, especially with Quinn in the room. 

Blaine _should_ know that.

That’s what Kurt hopes at least when he gives him one last glance before walking out of the room, leaving him and Quinn alone.

She looks around briefly when Blaine’s gone before she starts talking. “Tell me I didn’t see what I thought I saw out there tonight, Kurt.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Kurt responds, maintaining an even tone despite his fear.

“Don’t bullshit me. You know who you’re talking to here, don’t you?”

“Yes, Quinn.”

“I don’t think you do. I know you’re good at your job, which is why I adjusted to you working beside my husband every day, but I’m good at _my_ job too. You know very well that I’ve seen Blaine’s preferences, particularly the one he has for you.”

“I know.”

“You also know that we had a deal, you and me. Or am I mistaken?”

Kurt swallows, and it feels his world has collapsed once again, like he’s back where he was six months ago when Quinn confronted him with the truth: that she knew just how friendly he and Blaine had become on the campaign trail. She wanted it to end, because apparently if she wasn’t happy, Blaine couldn’t be either.

Unbeknownst to Blaine, she urged Kurt not to accept a permanent position in the Anderson administration, or she would find a way to make their affair public. He didn’t think she would go through with it since both she and Kurt would have a lot to lose, but he couldn’t risk it. Therefore, Kurt proposed the alternative that he would break off his personal relationship with Blaine if it meant he could keep his job.

He had been enduring the heartbreaking consequences ever since, until Blaine’s tearful jealousy-induced confession in the Oval when he realized the depth of the pain that they had both felt. After that, he couldn’t stay away anymore, even if it jeopardized everything they’ve worked for.

Kurt thought he could find a way around it.

Maybe he was wrong.

“I did make a deal, yes,” Kurt reminds her and himself. “But Blaine--”

“Has a country to run and you cloud his judgment. I knew something was up when he came back from Camp David all smiles and roses. You think I don’t know the signs by now?” Quinn challenges. “I know Blaine Devon Anderson like the back of my hand.”

“Quinn––” Kurt tries to interject with no avail.

“He walks different, he talks different, he _smells_ different after being with you.” Quinn continues her rant that makes Kurt feel _this_ small. “You walk around the White House like you got him here. _We_ got him here, Kurt. Don’t you forget it.”

Kurt has dealt with an array of bullies over the years, but Quinn is a different breed. She’s polite, sweet even, when she confronts someone.

It’s lethal, but Kurt stands his ground.

“Quinn, when Blaine is happy, we all benefit. Have you not noticed how difficult he’s been since the start of his presidency?”

“Blaine being satisfied benefits you and Blaine. It screws the rest of us. You realize that when you two get into one of your little tiffs, it ruins him. It physically ruins him. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, he drinks like a fish. You have too much power over him and it’ll screw up everything that _we’ve_ helped build.”

“If I stop seeing him again, that’s exactly what will happen.”

Quinn puts her hand on her hip, eyeing Kurt up and down. “Whose fault will that be? He barely made it out alive from your breakup six months ago. What do you think is going to happen now? Most importantly, who’s going to be there to pick up the pieces while you avoid him? Me! God knows no one else will do it.”

“Well, Quinn, last time I checked it was _your_ decision for me to end things with Blaine and you don’t seem to be very helpful in putting him back together because I did what you asked and he was unbearable. The first six months we’ve been in the White House have been a lot rougher than they could have. Blaine lost his focus because--”

“Because he didn’t have you?” Quinn finishes his thought. “Well, I’m sorry to break it to you Kurt, but how do you think this is going to end? You think I’m going to leave this marriage without putting up a fight? Then you don’t know me very well.”

“Quinn, I don’t know what you want from me.”

“End it. Now.” Quinn’s eyes darken. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Trust me, at the end of the day, Blaine will always, and I mean _always,_ pick me over you. You wanna know why? Because his career, being President Blaine Devon Anderson, comes before you.”

He wants to fire back with Blaine’s whispered promises of not running for re-election, of divorcing Quinn and a future in England. It’s his dream, but he can’t ignore that it’s far from logicial. Kurt tries to stay strong, not wanting to cave under Quinn’s gaze, but he loses his voice and is unable to respond.

“Oh, you seem surprised?” Quinn continues. “Let me guess, he has promised you the moon and the stars, but did he forget to mention that in our pre-nup, it states that if he divorces me that I have free reign to blurt out all of his gay sexcapades to the masses without legal ramifications?”

_What?_

Could there be any truth to what she’s telling him? How did Kurt not know about such an important document sooner?

He needs to find proof, _fast,_ before he banks any part of his future on it.

Kurt feels his heart sinking down to his new Armani shoes and it takes everything in him to keep his jaw from dropping.

It doesn’t help when Quinn laughs.

“Wow, for someone who walks around flaunting your great relationship with Blaine, how well do you really know him?”

“ _She’s been dealt with,”_ he suddenly remembers Blaine saying.

“Either way, like I said, end it, Kurt, for good, or I will ruin you so horribly that you’ll never work in this town again.”

Quinn gives Kurt one last evil glare before she strides past, the tail of her evening gown swishing behind her.

It’s all eerily similar to the conversation they had six months prior when Kurt was more romantic and ready to fight for Blaine.

Now the fight is still there, but he’s more fearful of the outcome.

**

He mulls over Quinn’s ultimatum as he returns to the party, and his date.

Peter’s bow is looser and a couple of buttons are undone; in the past Kurt would have been all over him, but his heart and mind presently lay elsewhere.

“Hey, what took you so long? Are we on bad terms with Cuba again?” Peter jokes, dancing to an upbeat jazz tune.

Kurt laughs despite himself, lucky to have a short break from all things Anderson and Fabray. “What? No, no. Nothing like that. Even if it was, I couldn’t tell you for a number of reasons.”

“Right. Is there anything you _can_ tell me? Any juicy gossip, perhaps?” Peter draws closer. “Like maybe why you won’t dance with me like you used to?”

“Pete, there isn’t any gossip,” he lies, “and you know why. This is a formal event and you’re drunk.”

“Please, there’s gossip everywhere you look in this town. You wouldn’t believe half of the stuff I’ve heard.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“That.” Pete pokes him in the chest. “Is confidential information. I don’t reveal my sources, not even to cute former fiancés like you.”

“Aww. C’mon,” Kurt teases, hoping Blaine is nowhere near, considering how precarious their relationship is at the moment.

Unfortunately, before Kurt can stop him, Pete’s whispering in his ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Shivers rush from his earlobe to his spine.

This is bad.

Instead of answering, he nods quickly, not even looking to see if Blaine sees them leave. Thankfully, Tobin isn’t too hard to find. He’s outside of the SUV surrounded by cigarette smoke. He puts out the butt quickly and straightens up, “You two ready to leave?”

“Yes, we will be going back to his place.” 

The moment it comes out of Kurt’s mouth, he’s yearning for a repeat, but it’s too late.

“ _My place,”_ Peter sings, literally sings, his smile beaming in the night.

Before Kurt can clear things up, Peter nearly leaps into the car, giddy as ever.

_Fuck._

On the car ride, Kurt’s silent. Peter on the other hand is yapping nonstop, a nervous tick Kurt knows so well.

_This is unbearable._

Kurt’s mind is racing from the shitty situation he’s gotten himself into right now, to Quinn’s biting words, and Blaine’s anger.

It’s all too much.

He takes an enormous sigh of relief when Tobin stops the car in front of Peter’s apartment complex. Learning his lesson, Kurt speaks before Peter has the chance.

“Peter, I can’t come inside. You know that, right?” Kurt’s tone is soft, and he hopes it’s not condescending. “You’re drunk and we have to maintain a professional relationship. It would reek of impropriety.”

“Did I embarrass you tonight? I knew that joke with President Anderson was too much.” Peter’s voice becomes lower and smaller with every word.

_Oh, no._

Kurt realizes that he’s hurt his feelings.

“No!” Kurt frowns. “You were fine, perfectly fine, Pete. It’s not that.” 

“Then what is it?” He cocks his head to one side, his eyes wide with anticipation. “You seeing someone else?”

“That’s not it at all,” Kurt whispers, trying to stay under control.

Peter’s mood abruptly shifts from sadness to anger before Kurt’s eyes.

_This is not good._

“You’re lying.” Peter announces, as if he’s telling it to himself. “Why didn’t you bring him? Why the mixed signals? Inviting me here tonight, getting me all dressed up. Then there’s the playful banter, the coffee, you calling me out of the blue? Why did you start this again? I was finally getting over you and now _this?”_

“Peter, you know I will always–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Peter shouts. “You know we’ve always been about honesty. I respected you when you ended our proposal three years ago because you were honest with me about your feelings. It hurt like hell, but I understood.”

_“Pete–”_

Kurt shudders when Peter holds his hand up to him. “I never pegged you as a liar. I also never thought you’d let Washington change you.”

Kurt reaches out for Pete, but he’s already out of the car door. 

His bitter words lie heavy in Kurt’s chest and he desperately tries to keep his feelings stored away. Thankfully, the driver doesn’t bother him with pageantry and just drives away. Pain wedges through him as he stares vacantly out of the window. This night went from good to fucking terrible within minutes. 

_Can all of these problems be fixed?_

Once Kurt’s at his new apartment, he’s never felt so barren and weak despite the fullness of his place.

It’s gorgeous, really. Sure, it’s not in the exact location he wanted, but Kurt knew he couldn’t live in the heart of D.C. when Blaine would be shuffling back and forth to his apartment on a weekly basis.

Living in the secluded northwest side of D.C. in a late eighteenth century neighborhood does have its perks, though, such as offering a gorgeous view of the Potomac River, which usually serves to calm Kurt’s fraying nerves.

Unfortunately that has no effect on how he feels right now.

He takes off his tux that feels as heavy as armor after a night of war at the State Dinner. His battle wounds are visible, a sullen and defeated expression on his face when he looks in the mirror, recalling the mere hours before when a completely _different_ train of thought filled him. Kurt strips off almost all his clothes, feeling so down in the dumps, he leaves his bedroom dressed only in his black briefs.

He goes straight to the kitchen for a bottle of red wine and the biggest glass he can find. Drinking to hide the pain is something he learned a long, _long_ time ago. Somehow he finds a _Project Runway_ marathon and Kurt has a glimpse of happiness.

_Why did they ever cancel this show?_

Once he’s comfortable, he pulls out his cell phone to send Marley an email.

_Marley,_

_I need a copy of the prenup between President Anderson and the First Lady on my desk by Monday morning._

_Be discreet._

_Kurt_

**

He doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch, but Tim Gunn is dishing out some fierce words of wisdom when he hears a knock on the door. His eyes automatically turn to the almost empty bottle of wine in front of him.

There’s only one person that would be at his front door this late, and Kurt’s half wanting to shout “go away,” but he stays where he is as he hears the rattling of keys, and then the front door creaking open.

Blaine appears in the living room, looking as much of a wreck as Kurt feels.

Most of his hair has broken free from the stiff product, his bow tie is completely undone, and Kurt notices that his shirt is half untucked as he stumbles forward.

Kurt turns the volume down on the television and shoots up from his seat.

“Blaine, is everything okay?”

“'M great, now that I’m with you. You get started without me?” Blaine grabs Kurt’s elbow and leans in for a kiss, but he smells like he’s bathed in whiskey.

“No,” Kurt explains, turning his cheek. “Just wanted to be comfortable and slip out of that suit. Are you drunk?”

“My wife’s a bitch. ’Course I’m drunk. But now I can have fun.”

The mention of Quinn bitterly reminds Kurt about the prenup she talked about. He still can’t believe that he didn’t know about this. Two years ago, he researched the Andersons meticulously, or so he had thought.

He’s more pissed than ever that Blaine came to see him drunk because he can’t bring up that tidbit of information now.

Kurt wants him to be sober when he confronts him.

“I’m not your plaything, Blaine. I’m not some shiny toy you take out when you’re horny and bored.”

A small part of Kurt wonders how many other men have been in this position with Blaine, if he promised them what he promised Kurt, only to toss them aside for someone else or to hide in the closet by playing house with Quinn.

“I know that. Kurt, I--If things were different--” Blaine interrupts his thoughts and tries for a kiss again, gentler this time, but Kurt presses against his chest.

“They’re not different. They are what they are,” Kurt snaps. “Won’t Quinn notice you’re gone?”

Blaine pouts, and normally Kurt would find that adorable, but he’s trying to push him away.

It’ll only make the eventual outcome easier on the both of them.

“I don’t give a shit about where she is or what she’s doing. She could be screwing the head chef for all I care. Jus’ wanna be with you,” Blaine whines. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Well, I don’t wanna be with you when you’re like this. You’re sad and you smell like a bar.”

 _And there are so many things that you haven’t told me. Do I even know you at all?_ He wants to add.

Blaine cups Kurt’s face with both hands, hazel eyes filled with despair. “I was sad ’cause you didn’t even say goodbye. You just left with that guy. Pat--Patrick? Paul? Perry?”

Kurt looks away. “Peter. His name is Peter.”

“Did you--?” Blaine gulps. “Did you kiss him goodnight?” 

“No.”

“Did he invite you upstairs?”

“I’m not there, am I?”

“Did he?”

Kurt takes Blaine’s hands and holds them. “Stop it. Just stop. The driver dropped him off and then brought me home.”

Blaine blinks. “Home. The one I gave you, the one that’s ours.”

“Blaine.”

“It’s ours, right? No one can touch it.” Blaine nuzzles at the crook of Kurt’s neck. “No one.” Then he mouths at Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt can feel his resolve melting.

“No one,” Kurt murmurs back, though he’s not sure he believes his own words as he drops Blaine’s hands.

Blaine curls his hands around Kurt’s sides, warm, strong, and somehow still delicate.

“Ugh, fuck,” Kurt curses. “We--We should talk.”

“Why?” Blaine whispers against his skin, walking him backward. “You're already half-naked. I want you so bad. I always want you, even when you have to date other people that aren’t me.”

“I’m not-- _oh God.”_ He pauses when Blaine’s fingers dip beneath his waistband and graze the curve of his ass. “I’m not dating him.”

“You know what I mean. The way he was touching you--I--He wants you.”

“He doesn’t have me.”

Blaine pulls back, a dark gaze in his eyes. “Good. Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn. Around.” Blaine grunts, so Kurt does, and he’s facing the mirror, his body lit by the dim glow of the TV screen.

Blaine’s hands brush low on his stomach and he tucks his head onto Kurt’s shoulder, staring into the mirror with him. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice this?” Blaine chuckles softly. “That I wouldn’t imagine myself touching you in front of it?”

Blaine squeezes at the front of Kurt’s briefs with one hand. “Is that why you bought it?”

Kurt feels his arousal stirring as he stutters out, “Y-yes.”

“Too bad I can’t fuck you right here, because I don’t want to move from this spot.” Blaine’s fingers dance up his torso. “I wanna see every second of you getting off, of us getting off together.”

Blaine’s hand disappears and Kurt hears the rustling of fabric. Then Blaine’s wonderfully, deliciously naked body presses against him.

Kurt can only shiver as Blaine’s fingertips ghost over his arms, his shoulders, his neck, and finally his jaw.

Blaine grabs Kurt’s chin with one hand and claims his lips while rubbing his half-hard cock against the crack of Kurt’s still-clothed ass.

Kurt sort of wants to know what they look like right now so he can etch this moment into his memory, but he’s too busy feeling.

Blaine breaks away far too quickly, his eyes flickering to Kurt’s mouth. “Take them off. I need to see you.”

Kurt simply nods, his mouth falling open. He carefully slips off his underwear, barely maintaining his balance.

Blaine rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “Now look in the mirror, Kurt. Look how gorgeous you are.”

Kurt’s fully erect now, so much so that he aches with it and it only throbs a little more when he sees Blaine’s face, looking at him thoughtfully, like he’s a work of art that he could examine all night and keep finding new characteristics to admire.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Blaine asks, catching his gaze.

“Please,” Kurt practically begs. “W-wait.” He reaches out toward the end table where he keeps a bottle of hand lotion and offers it to Blaine. “Take this.”

“Okay.” Blaine grins, squeezing some into his palm. “Y’know, I’m glad you didn’t start without me.”

He grips the base of Kurt’s cock and begins to stroke.

“Oh. _Ohh._ Wh--Why’s that?”

Blaine licks up Kurt’s neck and nips at his earlobe. “Means this might last a little longer.”

“Shit.” Kurt moans low in his throat as Blaine continues working him over with one hand on his shaft and the other on one of his balls, reaching further and further toward his asshole. 

“Feels good, baby?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers. “Wish I could see you.”

“’S okay. You can feel me.” Blaine’s erection brushes against his ass, near the crack.

“Blaine,” he says quietly as Blaine’s thumb swipes at the slit in the head.

“You like that?”

“Yeah. Want you so much, Blaine. Want you always,” he confesses, his eyes falling shut.

“You have me, Kurt. Forever.”

Kurt opens his eyes again to see Blaine so intensely focused on him and his pleasure that tears begin to threaten his vision.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Blaine encourages, stroking him faster and harder. “Wanna get you there.”

Precome dribbles out of Kurt and he tries to think about how he might stain the dark hard wood floors soon, but then he doesn’t care as Blaine’s teeth scrape along the column of his neck.

“Close,” Kurt manages as Blaine continues jerking him and he curses himself for drinking so much; otherwise he might have been able to hold out longer.

“Yeah?” Blaine asks in awe. “You’re so hot. Look.”

“I--I--” Kurt starts, blinking in attempt to focus and when he does, the sight before him is fucking beautiful, from the red marks on his neck to Blaine’s hand on his cock, and Blaine and Kurt staring at themselves and each other.

Kurt wishes he could have this attractive man beside him like this every night and for every moment after, snuggling into a bed that they can truly call their own, without conditions and without the fear that Blaine will leave and pretend to belong to someone else in the daylight.

Except he will, so all Kurt can do is appreciate what he has, which is more than enough as he feels his orgasm rushing over him, with Blaine babbling sweetly in his ear and still stroking him through it.

Kurt relaxes, his knees turning to jelly while he hears Blaine grunting and swearing behind him. The head of Blaine’s cock catches between his cheeks for a second before it slips out onto the small of his back, leaving Kurt’s own cock twitching impossibly with want.

He can feel Blaine’s forehead drop to his shoulder, and his hands falling away from Kurt. 

“Gotta--Fuck,” Blaine mumbles, rubbing his cock up and down Kurt’s back until he’s spurting out onto Kurt’s skin and presumably over his own fist.

There’s a featherlight touch of lips to Kurt’s shoulder blade, and then Blaine speaks once more. “Clean up quick. Bed after?”

“Yeah. Gonna need to scrub the floors later.” Kurt takes Blaine’s arms and wraps them around his middle.

Blaine laughs, kissing his neck. “We can pay someone to do that, Kurt.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” He slowly wanders them into the bathroom and finds a washcloth, carefully cleaning Blaine’s hands and then his own dick. “Can you help me?”

“Of course.” Blaine snatches the cloth from him and leads them to the bedroom, laying Kurt face down on the mattress. 

Blaine tenderly washes him off, kissing across Kurt’s shoulder and down his back as he goes, resting his mouth at the base of Kurt’s spine.

“If I wasn’t so utterly exhausted, I would do _everything_ to you right now, and I mean everything.” His lips trace up Kurt’s back and stop at his ear. “But I need to sleep, Kurt.”

“Then sleep with me,” Kurt simply replies, rolling to his side and taking Blaine with him, the rest of the world forgotten as Blaine settles behind him, warm and naked and all his, for now.

**

Sunlight peeks through the thin curtains, causing Kurt to blink awake.

He smiles when he realizes Blaine’s arms are still loosely draped across his stomach.

Kurt would never admit it to anyone else but he lives for these moments, where nothing exists but Kurt and Blaine, not the White House, not Quinn or Peter, or any other people who might be in the way of their happiness.

It’s just Blaine, the man who sometimes talks in his sleep and drools on Kurt’s shoulder, the latter of which he’s doing right now.

Kurt laughs quietly and kisses the top of Blaine’s head. Then he runs his fingers through the silver strands of hair above Blaine’s ear and imagines what those curls will look like ten or twenty years from now if Blaine doesn’t dye them dark, covering them like he does with the rest of his true nature.

With a twinge in Kurt’s chest, he realizes he probably won’t get to personally witness this.

Then Blaine comes to, looking up at him with a dopey grin and Kurt wonders how he’ll let this go, especially after all the promises they made to each other last night.

“Hey you.” Blaine tilts his head up, diving in for a quick peck.

“’Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing. I’m waking up with my favorite person so it couldn’t get any better.”

Kurt’s heart flips, like it always does when Blaine is so openly sweet like this.

Blaine cradles Kurt’s cheek with his hand, bringing their mouths together once again. Kurt savors the taste, even if it’s stale morning breath. Blaine climbs on top of him, tangling their legs as he deepens the kiss.

Kurt can’t bring himself to kill the afterglow now, even with the ugly truth that Quinn revealed at the State Dinner looming over them.

This could be his last chance to be intimate with Blaine.

So he lets his anger at Blaine and at the situation simmer inside him as he spreads his legs a little, letting Blaine settle between them.

Their still soft cocks catch against each other and Kurt feels his own stirring.

Blaine gropes for the top of Kurt’s nightstand, managing to flick open the half-used bottle of lube with one hand. Then he briefly pulls away to coat his fingers in the substance while grinning lewdly at Kurt.

But the look on Blaine’s face is replaced with awe, his eyes slowly trailing down Kurt’s body.

“Kurt, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Kurt’s mouth falls open, ready with a flirtatious quip that quickly slips out of his mind when Blaine’s hand wraps around his dick.

“Want you all the time,” Blaine babbles. “I’ll be thinking about this when I see you in those tight pants, biting your lip in that sexy and yet somehow adorable way.” He kisses Kurt’s neck. “I--I can’t even stand it, Kurt. I’m so yours.”

Kurt breathes out on an upstroke, growing to full hardness. “I’m yours too. Guess we’ll always belong to each other.”

“Like it or not. I’m the fucking president of the United States, brought to my knees by--by you. Sometimes literally.” He strokes Kurt more roughly and chuckles. “What a damn cliche.”

_Is he a cliche?_

Kurt does kind of see Blaine as one of _those_ gay men, forever trapped in the closet and in a loveless heterosexual marriage by his own choice. Kurt judged him for it, a lot, when he first found out but then he got to know Blaine and discovered why he had done it.

When he fell for Blaine, however, he hoped that Blaine could have the courage to live more honestly, otherwise Kurt would remain trapped with him as long as he stayed.

Kurt would have been gone so much sooner if it were anyone else, and has tried to respect Blaine’s decisions because for him, he knows there’s no else even close to Blaine.

Maybe Blaine is right about being a cliche but he is also a fucking remarkable man; he shouldn’t have to live like this.

 _They_ shouldn’t have to live like this.

Kurt can’t and Blaine can’t, either, not in the long run.

If last night was any proof, he knows it’s been killing Blaine, but it’s been killing him too. He stops thinking about all this now, though, because Blaine is touching him and it feels so damn good. So he cups Blaine’s jaw, relishing the stubble underneath his fingers before he kisses Blaine once more.

It doesn’t take much longer for Kurt to spill between them, Blaine jerking him through it.

Kurt relaxes, boneless and lost to the afterglow for a few blissful moments until he remembers Blaine. So he rolls them over so that Blaine lies deliciously underneath him and returns the favor, making Blaine moan out his name over and over while he comes hot over Kurt’s fist.

No matter what happens, Kurt thinks, they’ll have this.

 _He’ll_ have this burned into his brain, even if he has to let go of it again.

He stays on top of Blaine as long as he can, reluctantly climbing off when Blaine reminds him that Sam has probably been waiting outside all night to bring him back to the White House.

Kurt gulps at the mention of reality breaking through, but he lets Blaine drag him into the shower where they clean each other off and kiss a little more.

As Kurt watches Blaine dress back into last night’s clothes, he hopes that Blaine can sneak back without anyone noticing.

Otherwise, it will be one epic walk of shame and they’ll both pay the price.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is loosely based on the television show _Scandal._ If you haven't seen the show, it will not hinder the reading experience of this fic.
> 
> [Britt](http://dontfretbaby.tumblr.com) and [Stacey](http://somethingdarrenish.tumblr.com) would like to give a massive thank you to our betas for tackling this complex fic: [Alyssa](http://roblaine.tumblr.com/), [Mags](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/), [Ellie](http://broadwaydarren.tumblr.com) & [Christine](http://christinejaneanderson.tumblr.com/).

After the State Dinner, Kurt does everything in his power to avoid Quinn Fabray-Anderson.

One would think that since the White House is so big that it would be an easy task, but that’s far from the case.

By the end of another work week, he’s somewhat succeeded.

Kurt makes a note to give Marley major props for being a great buffer. She’s made nice with Bree, the assistant to the First Lady, in order to get a hold of her schedule, so that Kurt can know where to be, and more importantly where _not_ to be.

However, avoiding Quinn doesn’t solve all of his problems, especially since everything she told him about the prenup was true.

It still broke his heart that _Quinn,_ of all fucking people, knew something so personal about Blaine that he didn’t.

He just can’t get her haunting bitter words out of his head.

_“You have too much power over him and it’ll screw up everything that we’ve helped build.”_

He becomes overwhelmed by the paranoia of it all. He and Blaine are still together, but when they are _together,_ Kurt’s mind is in another place. Not that Blaine notices, though. Kurt’s never seen him happier and more focused.

He’s as affectionate and loving as ever, which almost makes Kurt feel worse.

For the life of him, he just can’t find the words to bring it up.

Thankfully work is always there is distract him.

Marley peeks her head into his office. “Kurt, Peter Costello from CNN is on line one.” 

He looks up from the stack of memos from his communications team with a quizzical look on his face.

_This is never good._

He hasn’t talked to or seen Peter since the State Dinner so Kurt isn’t sure if this professional or personal.

Kurt looks at the clock on his desk and it reads four forty-five p.m.

“Right before prime time news?” Marley shrugs her shoulders at his question and walks out of his office. Kurt looks at his phone, one of the lines blinking red at him. He takes a deep breath, and hopes for the best. “Hello, Peter, what can I do for you?”

“Good evening, Mr. Hummel.” His voice is clipped and cold. _Definitely professional._ “I’m calling to get an official comment from the White House about President Anderson’s affair.”

Kurt stops breathing, his heart now flying to his throat.

_“Excuse me?”_

That’s about all he can muster out, his voice high-pitched and barely restrained.

“I have it on good authority that the President of the United States is having an affair,” Peter repeats, more clearly. “My executive producer wanted to just run with the story, but I wanted to get an official comment from the White House.”

“Peter, what good authority? Is this a joke?”

“No.” Peter almost chuckles. “This isn’t a joke. This is going to be the top story on CNN in less than ten minutes and I need a comment or I can say the White House refused. It’s your choice.”

Kurt is furious, his anxiety flaring up, along with his blood pressure.

_What the fuck is happening?_

“How can I give a comment without knowing what you have, Peter?” Kurt tries to sway the situation, needing to know what ammunition Peter has. 

_Is it a photo of Blaine leaving his apartment?_

_Did someone see them in the woods at Camp David?_

_Maybe one of his Secret Service agents snitched?_

“I have an audio recording. That’s all I feel comfortable saying at this time.”

“ _Pete--”_

“Don’t you dare call me that,” he warns harshly.

The deck is stacked against him at that moment, and for the first time in a long time Kurt feels like he’s going to lose big.

Kurt sighs and then collects his thoughts to make his official statement: “The White House does not discuss the personal life of President Anderson. However, we will examine any evidence you have independently to confirm its authenticity.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hummel.”

The moment Kurt hears the dial tone, he yells: “Marley, get the department together in the conference room _now.”_

He quickly dials Wes’ direct line and he answers on the second ring, “Hey Kurt–”

“We’re fucked.”

**

_“Breaking right now, an audio recording allegedly of President Anderson discussing an affair has surfaced. For the latest on this, we turn to White House senior correspondent Peter Costello. Peter, what exactly does this recording say?”_

_Peter stands live on the White House lawn, adjusting his black framed glasses. “The recording, which I obtained from a White House source, contains a man, who CNN has positively identified as President Anderson, discussing what we hear is a ‘lengthy affair.’”_

Kurt is in the Oval Office packed with staffers but filled with silence. Every top White House official is in this room, including President Anderson and Quinn, who is nearly in tears. Kurt is barely keeping it together himself, seeing his entire career flash before his eyes as he waits what seems like ages for the alleged recording to play on national television.

In that time, he manages to outline what he can do after the White House when he’s forced to resign. He can move overseas for a while. He has enough money saved up that he can go far away where no one can reach him for a good year or two. 

Switzerland is probably gorgeous this time of year.

Finally, the recording plays.

_“Yeah, yeah, I understand what I’m doing has risks, but obviously you’ve never been in love before. Not like how I love Quinn and I do love her, but this is different. This is the kind of love that changes you in ways you didn’t know were possible. So we have to make this work. Get the apartment set up and let me know about the details…”_

_Peter pops back live on the screen. “That is the recording I obtained today. Now I did reach out to a White House official and he says that the White House does not discuss the personal life of President Anderson.”_

The anchor is about to ask Peter another question when Blaine shouts, “Turn it off!”

Kurt’s never heard him speak with such rage before. It nearly rattles the Oval.

Rachel is the first to turn off the TV and smartly, she ushers everyone out of the room who doesn’t need to be there.

Before Kurt knows it the only people left in the room are Wes, Blaine, Quinn and himself.

“Kurt, fix this!” Blaine shouts again, this time louder.

“Sir, I need to get some facts together before I can do that,” Kurt explains. In the limited amount of time he’s had, Kurt knows that step number one is discrediting the apparent White House source who leaked this recording to Peter. “Who were you talking to?”

Blaine looks up at him hurt, almost. “Are you assuming it’s me on that thing? C’mon, Kurt.”

“And that will be our defense, Mr. President.” Wes butts into the conversation. “Kurt, for all we know that’s a computer on that recording. We need a copy of it so we can let our FBI guys break it down. Who knows what type of so-called _sources_ they’ve got over there at CNN? I’ll get the FBI on the phone.”

Wes rushes out of the room, leaving Kurt with America’s couple.

Blaine’s hunched over his desk, his head buried in his hands. Kurt takes a few steps over to console him when he remembers that they aren’t alone in the room. Quinn sends him a glare that stops Kurt in his tracks, and then she clings herself to Blaine. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you would never _ever_ cheat on me,” Quinn says dramatically, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

Kurt sees Blaine flinch at the gesture, but then he settles into her embrace in a way that almost makes Kurt throw up.

All of a sudden, Kurt feels like he’s interrupting a tender, private moment.

Then Quinn drives that point home with yet another glare and a sharp request. “Kurt, can you please give _my husband and I_ a moment?”

Kurt waits a second for Blaine to protest, but he doesn’t.

So he retreats from the Oval Office where _he_ should be the only with his arms around Blaine Anderson, who is facing possible disgrace because of him. They should be in this together, but they aren’t. Instead, he's cast aside in favor of Blaine keeping up appearances, like always. He knows that Blaine is falling apart right now, but _he_ is falling apart too, with no one to comfort him.

He’s alone, again, in his own professional and personal nightmare.

He ignores Rachel’s questions and strolls numbingly to his office nearly in slow motion despite the chaos surrounding him.

Marley is the only voice that manages to break through to Kurt when he walks into his office.

“ _Kurt,”_ she whispers. “I don’t know what to do here. I know, uh, I should be doing something but–”

She follows when Kurt closes the door to his office and locks it. Then he slides down the door frame and tucks his knees into his chest. 

All of the angst and misery from the last few weeks come flooding out of him like a dam breaking free, hot tears springing from his eyes without warning. It even shocks him so he can hardly imagine what Marley thinks.

It doesn’t take him long to come up with an answer though. Within moments, Kurt can sense her next to him. She doesn’t speak, just sits there in silence until the tension surrounding them seems to lift a bit. It’s one of the kindest gestures Kurt’s felt in a long time.

Then out of nowhere she says, “Y’know, someone who I look up to once told me that this city can eat you alive, if you allow it.”

Though he knows she didn’t intend to be unkind, Kurt chuckles hysterically at his own advice being thrown in his face. “Whoever said that was right,” he answers, the sobs returning full force.

“He _was_ right. He’s right about a lot of things actually, which is why I know he can tackle any obstacle, including this one.” Marley puts her hand on his knee and through blurry bloodshot eyes, Kurt finally looks at her. “I know that sometimes I come off as behind the curve, but I promise you that if you give me a chance, I can prove myself. We can work together and fix this.”

Before Kurt has a chance to comprehend what she just says, the office phone rings. Instinctively, Marley runs up to answer it and then she pauses.

“It’s President Anderson’s office. Should I take it?”

Kurt can’t even begin to fathom what Blaine has to say now after he let Quinn completely kick him out of his office.

“Yeah–Yes. Tell him I’ll speak with him.” Kurt struggles to his feet, wiping his eyes as if Blaine will be able to see him from the phone line.

When he gets to his desk, Marley shuts his door to give him some much appreciated privacy. He sits down and reaches for the receiver, the weight of it so heavy in his hand that he slowly lifts it to his ear.

He doesn’t speak though.

Blaine breathes audibly on the other end and they let the silence linger around them like an invisible wall that neither knows how to breach for a few moments. Then Blaine speaks, shakily at first but growing stronger with each word.

“It’s a secure line, Kurt.” Blaine affirms. “And I’m--I’m in my office, alone.”

Kurt sighs, releasing all the hot air of anxiety. “Were you not on a secure line before?”

He knows it was Blaine’s voice on that recording, and he’s pretty sure Quinn knew it as well, but she probably felt it was more beneficial to her to act naive than to pick a fight.

“No, no I wasn’t.” His tone becomes smaller and far less confident. “I was–I was on the phone with Sam a few weeks ago when he was checking out the apartment. I didn’t think being on a secure line was necessary.”

_Sam?_

_What would he have to gain?_

“It wasn’t him, by the way,” Blaine interjects into Kurt’s thoughts. “I can hear your brain buzzing from over here. Sam wouldn’t betray me. He just wouldn’t.”

Kurt would normally poke a bunch of holes in that theory, but he has neither the time nor the energy for it.

“Okay, well if we don’t confront this by the end of the day the media’s going to think we’re stalling. We have to attack this full on. Take no prisoners,” Kurt explains, feeling more like himself now that his emotions are a little more together. However there is one aching feeling about the recording he can’t seem to shake.

“In the recording, you said, uh, you said it.” Kurt fumbles embarrassingly, like a teenage boy. 

_Get it together, Hummel._

He hears Blaine sigh on the other end of the line and Kurt automatically wants to take back the comment.

It’s selfish of him, really. This should be far from his top priority right now.

“Kurt, I–”

Kurt listens to Blaine heavily sighing yet again as he stops mid-thought, unable to express a truth that they can’t face, even in the eye of the storm.

“I know,” Kurt whispers, and then he looks at his clock with a groan. It’s been a good fifteen minutes since the recording dropped. _Time to get back to business._ “We need to get Santana out in front of the press corps within an hour, answering questions. She’ll say that your marriage is solid. We deny, deny, deny. That’ll buy us time to figure out who this mole is.”

“Can we handle this, Kurt?” Blaine asks, obviously concerned.

“Yes, Mr. President,” Kurt says before hanging up.

He could’ve argued, yelled at Blaine about how crushed he feels that the entire world got to hear how much he loves him before Kurt could relish in the satisfaction alone.

Of course, he’s more than a little pissed off that Blaine’s able to express such deep sentiments about their relationship to someone else but is incapable of saying it to him.

Then there’s the fact that he can’t stop thinking about the fucking prenup Quinn brought up. 

He obtained a copy of the document in question and discovered that every word that Quinn spouted at him the night of the State Dinner was one hundred percent true.

Blaine had given her the ability to break him and has been hopelessly chained to her ever since.

Kurt realized how much more right he was in helping Blaine devise his future plan: he had no other choice but to make Quinn divorce him.

Blaine’s been more trapped than Kurt ever knew.

There’s no need to bring this up now, though, and kick Blaine when he’s already down on the floor.

Even so, Kurt knows he’ll have to deal with the swirl of his emotions surrounding these facts later, or perhaps he’ll swallow them down with a bottle of red wine tonight in his lavish and lonely apartment.

Right now, Kurt calls Santana into his office to strategize.

They have bigger fish to fry.

**

_“The White House is not commenting on the personal life of President Anderson. Any questions regarding that, once again, I cannot answer.”_

Santana has said that statement about a half a dozen times and this emergency press conference only started five minutes ago.

She’s great at her job; Kurt’s not questioning that, but the circumstances are extremely heightened, even for her. She’s floundering a bit, stammering over her words, causing Kurt to strongly consider calling an end to the entire thing.

Then, with a start, everyone in the room stands at attention as the doors to the press briefing room fly open, revealing President Anderson who stands there silently for a moment, seemingly taking in his surroundings. He walks with purpose through the entryway with Quinn in tow, but Kurt can see fear briefly flashing in his beautiful hazel eyes.

_This isn’t part of the plan._

“What the hell is he doing?” Kurt whispers to Wes.

“I have no clue,” he murmurs back. “He just ran in here and we followed.”

Kurt turns his attention to Quinn and she appears put together and focused, not at all flustered by Blaine barging into this press briefing without consulting Wes or Kurt.

_Did she call for this?_

Blaine’s back to looking pretty confident despite the fact that just an hour ago he was cradled in Quinn’s arm in tears. It unexpectedly hurts that Blaine seems to have fixed the problem without his help.

Blaine steps onto the podium and briefly whispers something to Santana that the microphone in front of them doesn’t catch. When Santana exits the stage, he begins to speak.

“Good evening, everyone. For the record, I’d like to completely deny and discredit this alleged recording obtained by CNN. We have the FBI investigating the authenticity of the audio recording as well as tracking where exactly it came from. Whoever is behind this is making a poor attempt at destroying my character.” Blaine reaches his hand out to Quinn, who takes it willingly, standing by his side. “This is not one of those cliche political moments where the politician and his wife stand together in solidarity to fool the American people. Anyone who knows my wife will tell you that if this recording was true, she wouldn’t be standing here.”

Quinn stands there stoically as she nods in agreement, playing the part of the loyal wife and never taking her eyes off Blaine (and God, knowing the truth and being complicit in it, she really _is_ that fucking cliche that Blaine says she is not, except maybe she’s not as blindly faithful as she’s portraying herself to be).

_She always fancied herself as a younger Meryl Streep._

Blaine really is that cliche, too, denying the truth even when the entire nation and maybe the world has already made their judgment on him.

But they still don’t know everything and Kurt would like to keep it that way; he needs to protect Blaine, and himself, both professionally and personally.

The best way to do that is to figure out who the hell leaked that recording.

“We will find out who is behind this attempt at slandering my name and bring them to justice,” Blaine continues. “In the meantime, let’s focus on the real issues plaguing our great nation, like the marriage equality bill making its way through Congress over the next few weeks. Thank you everybody.”

Reporters clamor with questions and cameras blindingly flash across the entire room, but Blaine steps away from the microphone.

Quinn kisses him on the cheek and whispers something in his ear, and Kurt feels bile rising in his throat. When the pair walk past he and Wes, Quinn gestures for them to follow them. Sam escorts the four of them to a private conference room next to the press briefing room and the moment they are alone, Quinn squeals.

“That was _perfect,_ Blaine, utterly flawless,” she exclaims, and then turns toward Wes and Kurt. “I’m sorry we couldn’t confer with you guys on all of this. We just kind of came up with it and had to run with it!”

An immeasurable amount of fury bubbles in Kurt’s stomach as Quinn talks. He’s trying his best not to look at Blaine for too long, who’s just hanging his head down, staring at his feet.

“A show-stopping performance, Quinn, that’s for sure,” Wes finally admits. “Where do we go from here?”

“That’s where Kurtsie here comes in.” she snips coldly. He’s just trying his best to stay calm, while cringing inside at the annoying nickname. “I did all of the heavy lifting, dear, so I’m sure you can _fix_ or whatever it is you claim you do from here, right?”

“Yeah, Quinn. I got it,” Kurt mumbles.

 _“Great!”_ She winks at Kurt, then grabs Wes’ hand. “All of this excitement has me famished. Dinner, Wes?”

“Sure, of course.”

Quinn gives Kurt one last bitchy glance before exiting the room, her arm linked with Wes’. When the door closes again, Kurt waits for Blaine to speak, but after a beat or two, he remains silent.

“Blaine, what’s–what’s going on?” Kurt asks, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but here. Leaving with Quinn and Wes might have even been better than this.

“I love you.” The words run out of Blaine’s mouth so quickly that his bugged out expression following proves it’s a surprise even to him.

Kurt floats on an unexpected high as he stares at Blaine in disbelief.

_Did he just––?_

_Why did he––?_

“What did you just say?” 

Kurt has to make sure.

It’ll be super embarrassing if Kurt imagined that Blaine said the three words and six letters that they’ve been avoiding like the plague for the last year or so.

It’s possible that Kurt is still reeling from the abrupt press briefing.

Then almost as instantaneous as his admission of love, Blaine strides over and kisses him, pulling Kurt into a strong and steady embrace. Kurt seizes this rare opportunity to run his fingers through his less-gelled-than-normal hair. The tender kiss simply takes Kurt’s breath away.

Between each kiss Blaine babbles, “I. Love. You. Kurt. Hummel.”

Each word stirs Kurt into a world where there are no consequences: their England fairytale where Blaine utters these quiet confessions to him regularly.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this here, or now, given how much trouble it’s gotten me into,” Blaine murmurs against his lips, “but I think you deserve to hear it in person so you don’t doubt it. I love you so much and if you want everyone to know that, I’ll go out there and tell them right fucking now, Kurt.”

_The prenup._

_Mention the prenup._

However Kurt silences that nagging thought in his head when Blaine clutches Kurt’s waist and pulls back to gaze at him sincerely. “Yeah, yeah, career suicide and all that. Not to mention I’d be forcing myself out of the closet, but I’d be doing it on my terms, Kurt. This is an opportunity to come clean about everything.”

Blaine’s eyes have never been full with this much love. It sends shockwaves up and down Kurt’s spine. He feels frozen in place.

So instead of saying what he _should_ say, he comes up with a half-truth: “If you think you’re doing this for me, you shouldn’t. It’d ruin us both, and it wouldn’t be on your terms. Your back’s against the wall here, Blaine.”

With that, Blaine literally backs Kurt against the closed door and sighs. “You’re so, so right, but what if I don’t care? What if I’m so tired of hiding that I can’t do it anymore?”

As he takes Blaine’s hand, the fixer in him is screaming at him to reiterate how terrible Blaine’s idea is. Instead, different words tumble out of his mouth.

“It’s all up to you.”

Kurt wishes he didn’t say it because it immediately reminds him of another night that changed their relationship irrevocably, back on the campaign trail when Kurt had discovered the truth.

He really hopes the whole world doesn’t find out as well because just like then, there will be no going back.

If Kurt really wants to fix this once and for all, it’s now or never.


End file.
